Nothing and Everything
by Sth10
Summary: Severus Snape bitterly watches the Golden Trio return to Hogwarts, their year-long Horcrux hunt a failure, as the war threatens to destroy the world they all hold so dear. Eventual HGSS, non-explicit.
1. Chapter 1

Severus Snape bitterly watches the Golden Trio return to Hogwarts, their year-long Horcrux hunt a failure, as the war threatens to destroy the world they all hold so dear.

Disclaimer: None of the characters or canon events featured here are owned by me: all are copyrighted to JKR.

Long fic, weekly chapter update, non-canon from mid HBP. Eventual HGSS romance, non-explicit. Rated M for language and violence. Thanks for any reviews.

**NOTHING AND EVERYTHING**

**CHAPTER ONE**

The two men sipped from glasses of deep amber liquid as they regarded each other, just as they were being regarded by the knowing eyes of the magnificent flame-plumed bird that perched close by.

"So," the younger man said. "We are no further than we were a year ago."

"I believe there have been some achievements we must acknowledge."

"Such as? The wonderful triumph of Wimbourne Wasps in the league, perhaps, or shall we endeavour to think of some achievement within these illustrious walls?"

"Mock all you wish." The reply was annoyingly serene. What did a man have to do to get a rise of temper around here? "I stand by what I say."

That debate was clearly going nowhere, so the younger man changed the subject. "Have they contacted you?"

"Of course. They know help is always given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it."

If in doubt, wheel out the old philosophy for an airing. "Will they return here?"

"What other choice do they have? There is nothing else they can do for now; I hope their education will allow them a semblance of normal life again."

"They are adults now, in both worlds, and they have seen things no one of their years should have to witness. You can't expect them to merely pick up their quills as if nothing untoward has ever happened."

"To the contrary; having discussed the matter at some length, I believe returning to the one place that has signified safety and security to them all will grant them the opportunity to remember how young they still are."

"They will sit their NEWTs?"

"I should think their practical experiences will give them excellent advantages in their studies."

"Dumbledore, you make this sound like a whimsical fairy tale of the variety that usually makes me want to scoop out my brain with a blunt knife."

Albus Dumbledore's eyes were kind behind his spectacles. "They deserve the chance to return to the lives they felt driven to leave behind. They tried their best."

"They failed," Severus Snape said flatly. "As simple as that."

A moment of silence before Dumbledore gave a soft sigh. "I confess, my dear boy, that I never expected them to succeed."

Snape couldn't quite prevent a look of incredulity from crossing his usually impassive features. "So you sent them out like lambs to the slaughter, to hunt for pieces of the Dark Lord's soul, knowing they were certain to fail?"

"Not certain, no, but reasonably sure. I had no choice: to contain them would have been wrong."

"For what possible reason?"

"Their sanity. Had they not been given the chance to try, to go out into the world and experience this war for themselves, all three would have suffered irreparably in their frustrations and impotence. Two more so than the third, admittedly."

"And you think allowing them to roam the country for a year, hunting for objects two of them will barely comprehend, will have strengthened their mental state?"

"In many ways, yes, I do." Dumbledore sighed softly. "However, I regret putting such responsibility on them, even though they requested it. I'm an old man, Severus, and I make mistakes. I admit, one such mistake was to send them on a quest that has such consequences for the war."

"How gratifying for them to know that now."

A piercing look reminded Snape of just how perceptive the older wizard was. "Why do you care about three students you always professed to dislike?"

"I am not a fan of wild goose chases. Nor am I a fan of allowing The Boy Who Lives To Irritate to run off on his own little crusade when it merely fuels his stupid belief that he was born to save us all."

"And there was me thinking you may have missed them a little. Absence, it seems, does not make all hearts grow fonder."

"Do shut up, Dumbledore," Snape growled.

Dumbledore beamed. "Was there anything else you wished to discuss?"

There had been quite enough insane discussion for one day. Snape got stiffly to his feet. "Indeed there is not. Goodnight, Headmaster."

"Sherbet lemon before you go?" Dumbledore proffered the usual bowl, looking deeply amused when Snape automatically curled his lip at it.

"As you damn well know, I'd rather eat Mrs Norris than touch those cursed things."

"She would be exceedingly stringy, I have no doubt." Another happy beam from the greatest wizard of all time. "Goodnight, dear boy."

Snape took his leave without ceremony, striding down the spiral staircase. He hoped to run into a hapless student attempting some illicit night-time activity and was somewhat disappointed to find the corridors were deserted. Not even a couple of canoodling fourth-years, renowned for their uncontrollable hormones, for him to vent his frustrations on.

He was aware that if he returned to his rooms, he was likely to down most of a bottle of Firewhisky in an attempt to control the unsettled feeling that was currently roaring in his stomach, and that he was currently denying extremely hard. So he ducked into the staffroom where, as expected, his closest colleague was indulging in her nightly tea ritual before retiring.

"You've heard, then?" Minerva McGonagall asked drily.

"Our esteemed Headmaster just enlightened me on the situation." He took the armchair opposite and nodded when she indicated the teapot. As usual, he enjoyed watching her wince in disapproval as he ruined her delicate brew with a large slug of milk.

"I'm glad they're going to complete their education but I wish they were returning in more fortuitous circumstances."

"Potter is going to be unbearable. His hero complex will be completely out of control by now."

"And there was me thinking that maybe time had softened the animosity," McGonagall snorted. "Leave the boy be, Sev. He's been through enough."

Sev. She had been the first person to call him by that name since Lily and, although at first he had angrily resisted it, he had come to realise that she used it as her own way of showing that she cared for him, for their friendship. And like most things installed by Minerva McGonagall, it had caught on and now most of the staff addressed him as Sev; even Dumbledore adopted it on occasion.

Though Dumbledore also adopted disgusting articles such as wine gums and cola bottles, which contained neither wine nor cola. Suggesting perhaps a slight lack in judgement.

"They've grown up," McGonagall said softly, when Snape refused to answer. "They're not children anymore."

"I imagine little will have changed. Weasley will be as thick-headed as ever and Potter will no doubt still have the temper of a two-year-old. And Miss Granger will never be anything other than an insufferable know-it-all."

"An insufferable know-it-all you also described as the brightest student within these walls, I seem to remember."

It was Snape's turn to snort. "Taken out of context and I think you'll find I actually said 'the brightest student out of all the dunderheads within these walls'. Somewhat less of a compliment."

"The day I hear you give a compliment will be the day I declare Irish firewhisky to be superior to Scottish."

"I look forward to it." He mockingly toasted her with his cup. "And don't smile at me like that. Must you gloat in such an immature manner?"

"Gloating about the return of three of my House's finest?"

"If Weasley is amongst the finest then Gryffindor must be wallowing even lower than I thought."

"Do shut up, Sev."

"Why? This is so enjoyable."

"Because otherwise I will ensure that you will be in charge of supervising every Hogsmeade visit till Christmas."

"You never let me have any fun, Erva."

"Due to the fact you like trying to eat my Gryffindors alive. And in future, kindly don't refer to Mr Thompson as being part-troll. The teasing he is enduring from the third years is seemingly endless."

"What?" Snape protested. "Not only is it probably true, it's certainly extremely accurate."

"If you don't behave, I shan't tell you next time my fourth years plot to cause a series of unexplained explosions in your classroom. Which will be occurring tomorrow afternoon, by the way."

Snape gave a long-suffering sigh. "This place," he declared, "will be the death of me."

If a certain power-crazed and mentally-deficient dictator didn't do the job first, of course. Thank Merlin this infernal year was almost at an end.

X X X

It felt both right and wrong, stepping off the Hogwarts Express again. All three were pleased to be returning to the place that had been home to them all for so long but the pleasure felt tainted. They were returning not through desire to rekindle their old lives, but through failure. Their hunt was at an end; there were no further leads to pursue.

Hermione had expected it would be Harry who was happiest to return to school. Hogwarts had always meant more to him than either her or Ron, who had secure and loving families waiting for them beyond the castle walls. But Harry seemed consumed by their lack of achievement, as if he viewed going back to Hogwarts as an admission of his own shortcomings. Instead it was Ron who was desperate to return, to once again immerse himself in a structured life of good meals, warm beds and certainty of what each day would bring.

"Good to see the old place again," she said quietly to Harry as they walked along the platform. His gaze, like hers, was firmly fixed on the magnificent castle sat high above them, its lit windows gazing down benevolently.

Harry didn't speak but his nod was strong and his hand reached out to briefly squeeze her arm. Ron had already strode on ahead to the waiting carriages, unnerved by the stares and frantic whispers of the younger students around them. They quickened their pace to join him in the queue.

As they reached the front, Harry reached out to stroke the skeletal creature harnessed to the carriage. Hermione came eye-to-eye with a Thestral, visible to her for the first time. And that unflinching reptilian gaze took away yet another sliver of her childhood as it stared calmly at her. She climbed hurriedly into the carriage, trying not to think about the creature gracefully transporting them up to the castle.

Instead of rounding up the first years, Professor McGonagall stood waiting for them. Her smile was genuine, if somewhat restrained, as she strode forward to greet them.

"I'm delighted to see you all safely returned." Her voice was prim and firm as ever, but the current of warmth was easily detectable. Hermione found herself smiling at her Head of House, feeling genuine affection for Minerva McGonagall and her unflinching loyalty.

"How are you, Professor?" Harry asked, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot.

"Very well, Potter, thank you. Everyone is well. Professor Dumbledore is looking forward to welcoming you back."

"We're pleased to be back, Professor," Ron said for them all.

"Do you wish to join the Sorting feast? Or would you rather retire to Gryffindor Tower? The house-elves can bring food up to you."

"I think it would be less disruptive if the school concentrated on the Sorting rather than our presence," Hermione said quietly. "If that doesn't seem too arrogant, Professor."

"Not at all. In fact, a wise choice." McGonagall gave another rare smile. "I think you'll be pleasantly surprised to find how many of your fellows have also returned this year. Mr Longbottom is here, as are Thomas and Finnigan."

Harry and Ron exchanged happy grins at the mention of their old friends. Hermione, not about to hope for the return of the dormitory mates she'd never found any common ground with, wondered if she would be assigned one of the coveted single rooms.

McGongall straightened her hat. "I must attend to the first years. I've left them in Professor Snape's hands whilst I met you."

The boys couldn't have looked more horrified if McGonagall had admitted to torturing the new students with red-hot pokers and brimstone. She sent them a wry glare.

"I believe your arrival is being awaited in Gryffindor Tower. In the morning, we will address your NEWT subjects and timetables. The password is _Mona Lisa._ The Fat Lady has become something of a Renaissance buff over the summer, Merlin help us all."

With that she swept off to rescue the first years from whatever unpleasantness Snape was subjecting them to. Gathering their belongings, the three began to the long climb up the unpredictable staircases to the seventh floor until they found themselves standing before the familiar portrait. The Fat Lady beamed at them, eager to deliver a De Vinci-based lecture, but was fortuitously interrupted by Sir Cadogan charging uninvited into her frame to bellow his greetings. Taking advantage of the ensuing screeching, they hurriedly climbed through the portrait hole.

Three familiar faces grinned widely at them as roars of recognition and pleasure erupted. Neville, beginning his Herbology apprenticeship with Professor Sprout whilst trying again to get passing grades in his other NEWT subjects. Dean Thomas, a year on the run as a Muggleborn during Umbridge's reign of terror at the Ministry, now in the same educational position as his best friend who had failed to sit any of his exams despite remaining at Hogwarts. They were all in high spirits, delighted to be reunited, and although they greeted her joyfully, Hermione knew they were interested mostly in Harry and Ron.

As soon as the boys were distracted by each other, she took the opportunity to escape up the girls' staircase. As usual, elegant white cards bearing the students' surnames were affixed to the left of each door. Finally finding hers, she saw 'Weasley' printed on the card below.

Ginny had already made her usual impact on the large double room. One four-poster bed was covered in crumpled clothes; a Cleansweep 7 and a battered Quidditch kit was strewn across the carpet. Several textbooks, mistreated by numerous previous owners, were stacked haphazardly on one desk.

Hermione's trunk sat neatly by the second bed, the one next to the window. She smiled when she saw Ginny had not taken her favoured position. She had shared a room so often with the youngest Weasley during holidays that it didn't bother her to have been placed in a double instead of the desired single. Anything was an improvement on six years sharing with Lavender and Parvati.

A few brief flicks of her wand sent her belongings to their appropriate places and she settled on the softness of the kingsize mattress, heaving a gentle sigh. She was happy to be back, she truly was. Hogwarts was her home in the wizarding world; she loved the school as fiercely as any other student and it was a secret relief to return to the warm security of the castle. To have hot baths whenever she wanted, to be free from trying to cook trout and covering her every footstep and waking every morning wondering if today would be the day they all met Death head on.

But she couldn't deny the inescapable knowledge that it couldn't be the same, even though she knew Hogwarts would protect them. Too much had changed, both personally and within the wider magical world. The childish ignorance, what little had remained, was gone and nothing would bring it back.

The lives they had known, the world they had known, were unrecognisable. And that scared her more than she was prepared to admit.


	2. Chapter 2

Please note this is an AU work. Canon events, scenes, character traits and quotes may have been interpreted differently or used in different situations. Timelines, particularly involving the Horcruxes, have been given a great deal of artistic license.

**CHAPTER TWO**

"I don't want to take Potions again, Professor!" Harry protested in a voice rather too sulky to belong to an eighteen-year-old who had spent nine months seeking to destroy the Dark Lord's soul.

"Then you no longer wish to become an Auror?" McGonagall fixed him with her best steely look, her nostrils flaring slightly in familiar annoyance.

"Well…yeah…I do."

"So Potions is a necessity, Potter."

Harry did his mutinous look but grudgingly nodded. McGonagall tapped a blank piece of parchment with her wand and handed him his new timetable before doing the same for Ron who, as expected, had quickly selected the same subjects as Harry. The boys departed, muttering between themselves, and Hermione took the chair McGonagall indicated.

"I suppose you wish to continue the subjects you'd selected before your sabbatical, Miss Granger?"

She couldn't help but smile. "Yes please, Professor"

"A heavy timetable but no more so than your fourth year." McGonagall's voice became unusually gentle. "I expect you've missed your studies. It has been a hard year for you."

"It hasn't been easy, admittedly, but I honestly can't remember a year that has been. Though I'm looking forward to being back in class. There's only so much to be learned from books read in cold tents. And not much time or resources to practise Transfiguration or potion brewing."

"Since you raised the issue of brewing: you're aware that Professor Snape is teaching the NEWT Potions class? I'm afraid Professor Slughorn insisted on only working with the younger classes."

"Yes, I knew. It's not a problem. Professor Snape's lessons secured me an Outstanding OWL, after all."

McGonagall's lips twitched but her expression remained neutral as she handed over the fresh timetable.

"And you're not upset about not being made Head Girl?"

"Professor, being Head Girl is the last responsibility I would want. A Ravenclaw Head Boy and Girl is a good choice."

"Good." A nod of dismissal. "Send Finnigan in next. I think his subject choices will be slightly more _limited_ than yours."

Seamus gave her a rueful look as she exited the office, bracing himself for a lecture on how Gryffindors and failure did not co-exist in Minerva McGonagall's world.

X X X

The sodding Golden bloody Trio were all taking Potions? Why had the entire world decided to turn against him?

Snape regarded his NEWT class list with a ferocious expression that said he was considering hexing it into a pile of ashes. Harper and Baddock were the only Slytherins in what was a ridiculously small year group for the House. Quite a few Ravenclaws, including the insane Looney Lovegood; Miss Weasley, Miss Vane and Thomas also representing Gryffindor. No Longbottom or Finnigan the Explosions Expert, thank Merlin for small mercies, although they were both in his Defence class and certain to ruin his outstanding results figures.

He wondered briefly if Minerva was losing her marbles, allowing those two back into school again, but decided it wasn't worth the risk of sacrificing a testicle by enquiring into this possibility. There were already enough difficulties protecting his manhood from viciously-cast curses by Lord Anagram.

He cast the parchments aside and swept out of his dungeon office, heading for his Defence classroom up on the third floor. If he was honest, he still preferred being below ground in the Potions lab that had been his territory for so many years, an old ally that he still clung to. It should have been gratifying to get the Defence post after so long but the job had rather lost its draw with recent events like a small war and the ever-increasing certainty of his own death. And so the Defence classroom gave him no sense of it being his own domain and he was happier down in his dark Potions room, where the calming, complex of rhythm of brewing could soothe his battered soul.

At least Slughorn had the sense to stay well away from there – his lab was at the opposite ends of the dungeons and his quarters up near Gryffindor Tower, therefore the two men rarely encountered each other. Which suited Snape fine. He had nothing civil to say to his former Head of House. Not least because Slughorn was too damn lazy to be bothered with the extra work and complex marking that came with teaching NEWT Potions.

He had almost made it to the Defence classroom when his little reverie was interrupted.

"Hello, Professor Snape," said a dreamy voice that could only belong to one person. "Did you have a nice summer?"

He quickly checked to make sure no other students were within hearing distance. "Hello, Miss Lovegood," he muttered, because he could never quite bring himself to snap at the girl. She was so good-natured and embracing of the world, finding joy in the smallest and most insane of things, that he couldn't help but find her utterly harmless.

He would never admit that sometimes, in the privacy of his quarters, a particularly wonderful Lovegood declaration would occur to him and leave him convulsed with laughter. The Ravenclaw was certifiably bonkers but he always looked forward to seeing what madness she would create from a perfectly simple potion recipe.

"What do you want, girl?" he demanded when she continued smiling at him in that entirely disarming way of hers. He noted her earrings seemed to be made of small lilac carrots.

"I was wondering if you'd let me borrow a small amount of powdered batwing, sir."

He knew he shouldn't ask what she wanted it for, because the reason was likely to make him snort with amusement in public view, but he couldn't deny himself the temptation. "What on earth for?"

"Oh, I want to trap some Dilidribbets and they're particularly partial to powdered batwing. I thought if I left a little dish of it under my bed, I may be able to catch a few."

Of course, he had no idea what Dilidribbets were or if they existed anywhere other than in Lovegood's highly entertaining mind, but he wouldn't allow himself to get into a discussion about them.

Surreptitiously checking no one was overhearing this conversation, he huffed a defeated breath. Sometimes agreeing with her was quicker than arguing.

"Very well, Miss Lovegood. Come to the Potions storeroom at breaktime and tell no one."

"I won't, Professor. No one would ever believe you'd help me anyway."

And she skipped off singing what sounded suspiciously like a Muggle nursery rhyme.

X X X

Dumbledore called them to his office that afternoon via a flamboyant scroll of parchment delivered by a large, handsome tawny owl none of them knew. Evidently he had spent some time in the Muggle world over the summer, for the gargoyle now responded to the password 'Curley-Wurley', which required considerable explaining of Cadbury's chocolate to the bemused Ron.

All three were taken aback to find Dumbledore was not alone when they climbed up to the circular office. Professor McGonagall sat to the Headmaster's right and, by the window, Snape sprawled in a wing-backed chair with an expression of utter boredom on his face. Perched on the arm of his chair was the tawny owl.

"That's your owl?" Ron blurted out.

Snape gave the redhead a glare of derision and completely ignored the question, but his long fingers gently stroked the owl's soft feathers.

"Sir, aren't we discussing this alone?" Harry asked, looking furious at Snape's presence.

"The professors are as much involved in this as you and your friends, Harry. They must hear what is to be said as well." Dumbledore beamed and waved a gracious hand. "Please, be seated. I have a wonderful bottle of mead for us to enjoy."

He gave a vague flick of his wand and full glasses rushed from nowhere into the hands of everyone. Snape sniffed the mead suspiciously before taking a begrudging sip. Ron downed most of his in one gulp.

"A toast," Dumbledore said, "to your endeavours."

He and McGonagall raised their glasses in salute. Snape merely gave a ferocious scowl that lingered on all three of them as Harry and Hermione sipped their drinks in polite response and Ron attempted to hide his empty vessel.

"Our endeavours don't deserve a toast, Professor," Harry said quietly to Dumbledore.

"Of course they do, dear boy. An endeavour is not a success, rather the effort that is put into trying to secure a success. It is that we toast."

"We failed, sir, and I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to apologise for, Harry. None of you do."

"I disagree, sir." Harry's voice was flat. McGonagall frowned in a way that made her appear more concerned than annoyed. Snape looked like he had never been more bored in his life.

"I asked you all to try your best – and you did so. Yes, Mr Weasley, including yourself." Dumbledore's benevolent gaze landed on Ron as he fidgeted uncomfortably. "Yes, you separated yourself from your friends for a time and for that you feel inadequate, but your true courage showed in the fact that you went back."

"We found one Horcrux," Harry interrupted, anger and frustration blazing in his eyes. He scrabbled under his robe for a moment, snatching the broken locket from around his neck. He all but threw it onto Dumbledore's desk. "One. After all that time."

"And one is better than nothing. The locket was a difficult item to find and even more difficult to destroy. Mr Weasley feels shame for leaving your search, but his return and his subsequent actions ultimately proved vital in this Horcrux's discovery and demise."

Ron flushed bright pink and looked at his shoes. Once again, Hermione found herself glancing at Snape, noticing he had sat more upright in his seat. His black eyes were fixed on Regulus's locket, boring into it as if it had personally offended him. He showed no curiosity towards it, unlike McGonagall, who had leant forward to take a closer look.

Dumbledore regarded the locket with an expression of polite interest, then helped himself to a sherbet lemon and took his time unwrapping it. "There have also been some positive developments. Dolores Umbridge has been removed from the Ministry and interest in the Muggleborn Registration initiative seems to have faded with her, allowing most of our associates in hiding to return."

"Where is she, sir?" Harry asked, his face a mask of pure hatred at the mention of Umbridge's name. He unconsciously flexed his fingers, making the white lines of his scars stand out starkly on the back of his hand. His breath was coming fast and sharp and Hermione hoped they were not about to witness an explosion of Potter temper so soon after returning to school.

"It appears no one knows for sure," Dumbledore said apologetically. "Word has it she fell afoul of someone rather more powerful than herself."

Hermione was the only one to notice McGonagall exchange a glance with Snape. As ever, Snape's expression was completely unreadable but Hermione thought she detected a sense of satisfaction from her Head of House. Whatever had happened to Umbridge, the staff clearly knew more than they were willing to share. She hoped it had been exceptionally unpleasant.

"People are still disappearing, Professor," Harry said, somewhat forcefully. "We read the _Prophet_."

"Of course, Harry. Forgive me if I sounded blasé. I would not presume to suggest that the current situation is a palatable one, but I feel we all need some positivity to draw on."

"Sorry, sir, but I can't see much good news at the moment."

"We do have one thing, I am pleased to report," Dumbledore said quietly.

He gestured towards a large and rather ugly gold ring, obvious in its weight and age, that sat on the desk before him. The black stone in the middle of it was broken, split in half.

"Whose ring is it, Professor?" Ron asked, when Harry merely stared blankly at the damaged jewellery.

"It was the property of Marvolo Gaunt."

Hermione heard a gasp of surprise at the mention of Voldemort's grandfather and realised it had come from her. "Where did you find it, sir?"

"Where this story began: the home of Tom Riddle's wizard ancestors. Or what was left of it. The old place is something of a ruin now. The ring was hidden there, protected by some rather powerful enchantments."

"It's a Horcrux?" Harry interrupted incredulously.

"Indeed. Or rather, it was, until, like its fellow before us, it met with the sword of Gryffindor." Dumbledore regarded the fractured Horcrux. "I will not pretend it was an easy object to retrieve. The ring carried a curse that would have killed, given the chance."

From his chair, Snape snorted softly, moving his glare between Dumbledore and the broken ring with equal malevolence. Whatever had happened with that Horcurx, Hermione realised with surprising certainty, Snape had been involved. And the recollection of events was not pleasant, judging by the tension radiating from the Potions master.

"So, that means there's only four left," Harry said slowly.

Dumbledore smiled gently. "As you can now see, Harry, we are further in our quest than you think. Take heart from that." His blue eyes regarded all three of them for a moment, his gaze warm and reassuring. "There is one final matter I wish to discuss with you today."

He crunched the remains of his sweet with apparent pleasure. "As you know, none of your fellow students are aware of the real reason for you leaving school. Nor are many of the staff beyond those in this office. It is best that all remain ignorant. Unfortunately your quest cannot be allowed to become general knowledge, for reasons I'm sure you understand."

Harry and Hermione both nodded; Ron looked somewhat disappointed.

"Sir…" Harry started and even though Hermione didn't know what he was about to ask, she was relieved when Dumbledore raised a hand to silence him.

"Not today, Harry. There will be more time for questions. For now, your mind is too agitated for you to absorb the answers. We will meet again soon."

Snape seemed to take that sentence as the meeting's closure and got abruptly to his feet, striding towards the door without a glance at either Dumbledore or McGonagall. It seemed his presence had been demanded rather than invited.

He didn't look like he'd been away over the summer. He was pale as ever and he seemed even thinner if the hard line of his jaw and the exaggeration of his high cheekbones were anything to go by. Dark circles of tiredness lingered under his eyes and he moved across the office with a barely-disguised fury, his movements sharp and rapid.

Just for a moment, his black gaze landed on Hermione and she hurriedly averted her eyes, not wanting to draw his rebuke. It seemed, for a split second, that he was about to say something to her.

"Come, Orcus," he said quietly, holding out his forearm. The tawny owl flew to him without hesitation.

In a swirl of billowing black, he was gone.

X X X

Seamus and Dean were lounging on the common room sofas, watching the portrait hole expectantly as Hermione climbed through.

"What did Dumbledore want?" As usual, Seamus was the one to ask.

"Just to welcome us back," Hermione said vaguely.

"He didn't welcome us back!"

"You never really went anywhere," Dean pointed out. "And you're only here now 'cos your mum went mental at you."

"She did not!"

"Why did you come back, Dean?" Hermione interrupted the fledgling argument before it could ignite.

The tall boy shrugged. He had grown even more in his time on the run and developed a hard muscularity to his long limbs that came only from learning to survive. "I never wanted to leave in the first place. But my mum was worried about the Muggleborn Registration thing: she didn't really understand it but she said it was too much of a risk for me to present myself. 'Cos I can't really prove my dad was a wizard or anything."

"Where did you go?"

"Brazil. My mum's family's from Sao Paulo. She thought it'd be safer there. Guess she was right. Umbridge was mental; I reckon she'd have had me in Azkaban given half the chance, charged with stealing magic from a 'real' wizard."

Seamus, wide-shouldered and broad-chested but not much taller than Hermione herself, looked somewhat sickened at the mention of the High Inquisitor.

"But she's gone now," Seamus said in his most reassuring tone, which was about as comforting as a hug from a Venomous Tentacular. "The old toad hasn't been seen for months. Everyone's saying she got on the wrong side of Mad-Eye Moody and he cursed her into the body of a pink kitten with crossed eyes."

"You pay far too much attention to Rita Skeeter's articles," Hermione told him witheringly.

"Whatever. Who cares? The Muggle Registration's been disbanded, Umbridge is Merlin knows where, and Dean's safe again."

"Safer than you, actually," Dean declared. "Your mum will hex you herself if you don't get at least four Acceptables."

Seamus scowled. "Look, I had other things on me mind last year. I thought leaving early and getting out into the real world was a good idea since I was gonna fail all me exams."

"For about a month," Dean mocked.

"You try going out and finding a job in times like these," Seamus retorted. "Me mam didn't understand how hard it was."

"So she told you to haul your arse back to school and get your NEWTs."

Seamus scowled at the fire. "Something like that."

Hermione managed to control her smile. "Who told you it was safe to return?" she asked Dean.

"Professor McGonagall. She said she'd contacted all the Muggleborns who'd gone on the run. She was great, actually." Dean gave his usual wide, white smile. "It's weird but I've never been so glad to see her in my life. She said it was my decision but Hogwarts would be there for me when and if I wanted to come back. She made it seem like everything was going to be all right again."

"It looks like not many apart from you took up her offer."

"Their loss," Seamus declared. "Hogwarts is the safest place in Wizarding Britain right now."

Hermione looked away, pretending to be absorbed in searching her bag for a particular book, not wanting them to see the doubt in her expression.

"Where's Harry and Ron?" Dean's attention span was at its limit.

"Quidditch pitch," Hermione said. "They needed to burn off a bit of frustration."

So, it seemed, did Dean and Seamus, for it took them less than a minute to collect their brooms and make a run to join the boys. Which was something of a relief.

Flicking her wand to stoke the crackling fire, she settled down to the unavoidable task of thinking through what she had learnt in Dumbledore's office. And more importantly, considering why Snape had seemed so furious about Marvolo Gaunt's ring.


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE**

Severus Snape was an outstanding spy because he saw details everyone else missed. He noticed what was subtle, barely detectable, and he could read the true story when no one else could. He understood the thousand stories a pair of expressive eyes could tell. Which was exactly why he had spent so long perfecting the art of making his own absolutely impenetrable.

He barely recognised the young woman who stood before him. She suddenly looked too mature for her school uniform, wrong for the first time in her robe and Gryffindor tie. Any remnants of childhood were gone from her features, replaced by high cheekbones, an elegant jawline and huge, dark eyes that didn't quite hide the haunted light that lay within them. So, Miss Granger had seen the world as it truly was. And even though it hadn't broken her, it had come close.

She struggled to sleep at night: he didn't need Legilimency to tell him that. Not from nightmares or fear but due to the inability to switch off. She analysed everything they had done, every decision made, and she did so constantly. And Severus Snape could see this because he did exactly the same thing.

Only he didn't do it out of angst or insecurity. He did it to ensure he never made a mistake.

He continued his slow, deliberate pacing around his Potions lab, pausing every so often to glare witheringly into a bubbling cauldron. The NEWT class, uncertain in their first lesson of the term and fearful of drawing his wrath, kept their heads down and eyes fixed on their ingredients. All except Lovegood, of course, who was twirling happily around her desk, humming under her breath and waving complicated and undoubtedly nonsense patterns over her cauldron with her hands.

Snape deliberately avoided looking in the Ravenclaw's direction and proceeded to bark a reprimand at Purcell of Hufflepuff for massacring his Scurvy grass that made the boy's knife slip at an inopportune moment. Sighing at the unfairness of his existence, Snape ungraciously flicked his wand to reattach the severed finger and ordered Purcell to the hospital wing before his blood stained the stone floor. Blood was a bastard to clean.

The rest of the pupils hurriedly averted their eyes from his fearsome glare and returned to their task. Granger's concentration had not wavered from her Befuddlement Draught, apart from occasional hissed instructions towards Potter. Surprisingly, she had seemingly left Weasley to his own devices, which was proving predictably disastrous. Weasley looked traumatised by this abandonment, not to mention panicked at being left to fend for himself.

So, the Golden Trio were not quite so golden anymore. Those supposedly unbreakable bonds of friendship had been strained. He had heard about Weasley's desertion, of course, but as he doubted the redhead could add anything remotely intelligent to the quest and didn't really give a damn anyway, he had thought little of it. It seemed Miss Granger had thought significantly more of it judging by how she was currently crushing her loganberry seeds into an unnecessary powder.

Unlike her friends, she showed no signs of having been away from academia for a significant length of time. Her work was methodical and competent as ever: Granger was not a Potions prodigy but she was a capable brewer and much as Snape was loath to admit it, she didn't require supervision or assistance. Her obsessive study of every set text ensured she knew exactly what she was doing. No doubt she had taken an entire library on her little Horcrux crusade.

Snape curled his lip in derision at the mere thought of the ridiculous quest and stalked past the Gryffindors' benches to spend a satisfying five minutes reducing Corner to a gibbering wreck.

He waited until the end of the lesson for his traditional dramatic monologue that he always liked to start a new academic year with. Just in case any of the students had forgotten their fear of him over the holidays. He watched silently until each student had brought their flasked samples to his desk and returned to their places before moving to stand at the front of the class, drawing their immediate attention without needing to demand it.

He crossed his arms across his chest, making sure his robes billowed appropriately with his movement and delivered a flawless, drawled lecture about the intense difficulty of seventh year Potions and how he expected most of them to be completely useless in all areas of the syllabus, but that incompetence would not be permitted to damage his outstanding grade figures and anyone who was even contemplating getting below an E had better move their bed into the library and remain there for the duration.

Snape drew himself up to his full, impressive height, his voice quietening so it was barely audible, his favourite trick.

"Should any one of you fail to pay sufficient attention and end up annihilating yourself, your fellows or my classroom, rest assured the consequences would be endless, as would the paperwork I would have to endure in the event of your deaths."

He glared ferociously at each student to make absolutely sure they understood how much their demise would inconvenience him. Potter glared back mutinously; Weasley looked positively terrified as he transparently came to the realisation that he couldn't rely on Granger's help any longer. The rest of the class just murmured their confirmations, except for Lovegood, who smiled dreamily at him as if he had just offered her cake.

"Dismissed," he snapped.

X X X

"Why didn't you help Ron in Potions?" Harry asked quietly as he sat down beside Hermione, helping himself to beef stew. The Great Hall was full of chattering students gulping down their lunch but Hermione had taken care to sit apart from the other Gryffindors.

"Because I always get in trouble for helping him," she said, keeping her eyes on her own plate.

"Never bothered you in the past."

"It bothers me now, Harry, okay?"

"You still haven't forgiven him, have you?"

"For abandoning us? Of course I haven't."

"But you talk to him and everything."

"I know. He's still my friend and if he really needs help, I'll give it him, but he can't rely on me like he used to. We couldn't rely on him."

"He's sorry, Mione, he really is. He knows he was stupid and he regrets it, he's told me loads of times."

"I just…I don't know…I suppose I'm still angry about it deep down. I mean, I know he came back and I know he saved you from drowning and he destroyed the Horcrux but it still feels a bit like he betrayed us."

"Have you told him this?" Harry asked uncomfortably, clearly torn between his instinctive desire to believe her because she was always right, versus his loyalty to his best friend.

"No. I don't want to tell him, because I know I should have got over it by now. But I can't." To her surprise and anger, tears filled her eyes. "I thought he really cared about me. I thought…"

Harry looked completely confused. "Thought what?"

"It doesn't matter." Hermione swiped roughly at her eyes. "I was wrong."

"I don't get it, Mione."

She managed to force a half-smile. "'Course you don't, Harry, you're a boy."

"Ah." Realisation, then acute discomfort, crossed Harry's expressive face. "You mean…you and Ron…"

"There is no 'me and Ron'," she snapped.

"But there was?" he persisted, the cogs visibly whirring in his brain. "Or…or you thought there was going to be?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"You always want to talk about everything."

"Not about this, Harry."

"Talk about what?" Ron asked as he shoved Harry over and sat down beside his best friend.

"Nothing," Hermione said quickly.

Ron was already concentrating on piling his plate. "Want to throw a Quaffle around before Transfiguration, Harry?" he asked through a huge mouthful of potato, Hermione's Potions' desertion apparently already forgotten.

Hermione left them discussing the Gryffindor Quidditch team and retreated up to her dormitory. Ginny was lying across her own bed, hurriedly scribbling away on a piece of parchment.

"Potions homework?" Hermione asked, thinking she should get started on her own. Four feet could take a while now she was out of practise writing essays.

Ginny snorted her derision at such a suggestion. "Quidditch trials. I'm glad McGonagall said Harry could play; I thought he might not be allowed to."

"And what about Ron?"

"If there's no better Keeper, I might select him," Ginny said airily, playing with her Quidditch Captain badge.

"That's kind of you."

"What's going on with you two?" Ginny may have been slightly more mature than her many brothers but she still had that common Weasley trait, a complete lack of subtly.

"Nothing." Hermione perched on the window seat. "Nothing at all."

"Something happened."

"How do you know?"

"Because when Ron came home he was moping around like a miserable sheep for at least a week and wouldn't let anyone say your name."

"A miserable sheep?" Hermione echoed.

"You know what I mean. He got over it once Bill and Fleur came to stay, 'cos he was busy drooling over her, but before that he was unbearable. Did you dump him?"

"It didn't get far enough for that. Gin, haven't you got Quaffles to chase or something?"

"I'd rather talk about this."

"There's nothing to talk about. Ron's got over it, as he's making perfectly clear, and I'm fine with everything going back to the way it was."

"How can it? Everything's changed, Mione. The whole world's different. Even Hogwarts is different." For once, Ginny looked perturbed. She was usually so fiery, so confident, but now she seemed suddenly apprehensive.

"It doesn't seem so different to me. Most of the students still aren't really aware what's going on."

"I feel like I'm not really either."

"We've told you everything, Gin."

"No, you haven't. It's ok, I understand you can't. I know Professor Dumbledore has told you not to say too much." Ginny shrugged. "It's a bit frustrating really, especially 'cos I know Harry knows loads more about it than I do. But Mum says that's how it's got to be."

"You're not missing anything by not knowing," Hermione said quietly. "It's not a nice knowledge."

"Better than ignorance," Ginny retorted. "Anyway, complaining about it isn't going to change anything. I'm going to pin up the try-out notices."

"I'm sorry I can't tell you any more, Gin."

"It's not your fault." Ginny smiled wickedly. "It's more fun to blame Harry anyway. He gets so flustered when I have a go at him. See you at dinner."

She bounded off, brimming with energy. With enviable ease, she had shaken off her worries. Ginny was resilient, much more so than Hermione herself was. Ginny would not allow the war to affect her enjoyment of her final year of schooling or her Quidditch captaincy. She would not be ruled by anxiety of what was to come.

Hermione wished she was capable of doing the same.

X X X

It was strange that, even after all these years, he still felt that initial stab of unease whenever he visited Malfoy Manor. Nothing to do with Lucius, nothing even to do with the Death Eater meetings so regularly held here now. No, it was the sheer opulence of the place. It stank of wealth and privilege and for a man dragged up in the back streets of Northern England, it was unbearable. It took an excellent cigar and a few snifters of aged brandy before Snape could bring himself to relax.

"How is Draco?" he asked once he was safely in Lucius's study, glass in one hand, resisting the urge to blow smoke rings.

"He is well," Lucius said carefully.

"He is becoming more…involved?"

"It seems our master has a plan for him, yes."

"But you have no idea what."

"As yet, no." A calculating look from Lucius. "Do you?"

"No."

"Would you tell me if you did?"

Snape smirked at his oldest friend, but it was without malice. "I would do what I thought right."

"For you or for Draco?"

"I have been part of Draco's life since his birth, Lucius. Despite popular opinion, I am not completely without heart."

"I fear for him, Severus. He is so young."

"We were young as well, when our time came."

"We were different. We didn't enter into this lightly. Draco…his heart rules his head. He is arrogant enough to think he can turn the situation to his own advantage." Lucius's pale face momentarily coloured. "I think he is actually enjoying it."

"You cannot interfere, Lucius. However difficult this is for you, you must let it run its course. The Dark Lord will not stand for any obstruction. You would not be the only one to suffer."

"He would punish Draco?"

"You know he would. I suggest you don't give him the excuse to do so. Hold your tongue and bide your time."

Lucius took a slow mouthful of brandy. "I should have sent him back to Hogwarts before this all got out of hand."

"It would have done no good. He was chosen."

"So he keeps insisting. I wager even you would struggle to discipline the boy now, Severus."

"Where is he?"

A sigh. "I have no idea. Off running around with Bellatrix and her uncouth minions, I imagine. My son seems to be forming rather unsavoury alliances."

Snape couldn't help but laugh. "Even at moments like this, you're still a snob, Lucius."

"Of course I am." Some of the haughty arrogance returned to Lucius's tone as he rallied slightly. "What else could I be?"

"And yet you are friends with a poor half-blood," Snape said softly.

"Your blood matters not to me, Severus, nor the contents of your Gringotts vault. I told you that years ago, when I realised I would rather have no other man fight alongside me than you."

"How much of that bloody brandy have you had?" Snape asked mockingly. "You're becoming quite loquacious."

"You have a wonderful vocabulary for a poor half-blood," Lucius drawled. "Another glass?"

"Certainly. Beats the stuff I have in my liquor cabinet."

"Don't be insulting: you drink the equivalent of turpentine."

"Ogden would be devastated to know your low opinion of his product, I'm sure."

Snape allowed his glass to be replenished with a generous measure, glancing up as the study door opened. Lucius's wife entered noiselessly, her movements graceful as ever. She had aged dramatically in recent times: her cheekbones threatened to pierce her translucent skin and new lines of worry had appeared around her eyes.

He automatically stood. "Good evening, Narcissa."

Narcissa gave a smile that didn't reach her troubled eyes, kissing him on the cheek. "It's good to see you, Severus. How are you?"

"As well as I can be. Yourself?"

"Much the same." She looked to her husband. "Draco is home."

"Tell him I wish to see him."

Narcissa nodded abruptly but before she could leave the room, Draco appeared in the doorway of his own accord, dressed all in black. He didn't look surprised to see his parents' visitor.

"Draco," Snape greeted him quietly.

"Uncle Severus." The boy still referred to him as Uncle in private, not yet able to break the habit of childhood.

He had grown again; he was barely shorter than Snape now, and his long body had an elegance that almost shouted his pureblood refinement. His pointed face was paler than ever and somehow older, not the face of an eighteen-year-old.

"How is life at Hogwarts?" he asked with a sneer.

"Much the same. Don't tell me you're missing school."

"As if I'd ever lower myself to such a level. I'm glad to be out of that place. I assume the old man has let all the Muggleborns return?"

"Professor Dumbledore has allowed any student of your year to return to complete their NEWTs if they so choose, yes."

Draco's expression was pure scorn. "And to think you wanted me to return, Father."

Lucius ignored his son's words. "Where have you been?"

"Out. We ran into a Mudblood that needed to be taught a lesson in manners." Fire flared in Draco's eyes, a fervour that Snape found deeply disturbing. "It sickens me to see them strutting around once again like they're equal to us. Professor Umbridge's work was…"

"What have I told you about using that word in my hearing?" Snape growled, cutting the boy off abruptly. "And for Merlin's sake, don't afford that toad of a woman the respect of a title. Her little reign is well and truly over."

Draco scowled, making himself look like the child he really was. He strode over to the drinks table, pouring himself a brandy but not quite managing to mask a grimace as he sipped the strong spirit.

"You're spending too much time with your aunt, Draco," Snape said softly. "You are a Slytherin: we do not follow blindly. We find our own paths. You are not like Bellatrix and you'll do well to stand alone rather than behind her."

"Aunt Bellatrix is teaching me better than those buffoons at Hogwarts ever did."

"Your aunt can kill with utter impunity, and does so regularly. You cannot do that."

"How do you know?" Draco demanded.

Snape spoke as if they were the only ones in the room. "I know because I have watched you grow from infancy. You are arrogant and you are vindictive; you are capable of hurting people and you have almost no sense of empathy. But you are not a killer, Draco. That is not within you. You haven't yet killed and I believe you never will in cold blood."

The boy's grip on his brandy glass had tightened enough to turn his knuckles white. He was trying desperately to avoid his teacher's gaze but when Snape managed to catch a glimpse, he saw fear.

"There is no shame in that," he said softly. "The opposite, in fact."

"I will kill if my master demands it of me," Draco snapped, and it was not just the tremor in his voice that made his statement entirely unconvincing.

"You will never stand before another soul and cast the killing curse. That I know for sure." Snape got his feet. "And for that, you should be grateful."

Draco threw back the remains of his drink, wincing at its burning path down his throat. His hands were shaking as he put down his glass. Without a glance at his parents, he strode from the room.

"Do you truly believe what you said, Severus?" Narcissa asked after a long moment of silence.

Snape swept his coat from the back of his chair, taking his time doing up the buttons.

"I wouldn't have said it if I didn't."


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 4**

It was still rather strange, Hermione concluded in her fifth period lesson, to see Snape striding about the Defence classroom. If anything, his presence here was even more powerful than in the Potions lab. He radiated confidence, authority, a complete self-assurance that spoke volumes of his experience with what he was preparing them to face.

His temper did not seem quite so short in Defence lessons. A faint glitter in the dark depths of his eyes as he lectured betrayed his passion and he seemed too involved in the subject to indulge in the insults and reprimands that flew regularly across his Potions classroom.

Perhaps this was his own personal crusade, his redemption of a sort for what he had once truly loved. Maybe still did love. The fact that he had been in post for more than a year and had not yet met with the curse had not gone unnoticed, even by Ron.

"What is the definition of a hex?" Snape stopped at the front of the class, regarding his silent students.

Hermione considered not raising her hand, despite knowing the answer, but she found he was looking directly at her, as if in resigned expectation. She looked away from his unflinching gaze but answered his question.

"It is one of the seven types of spells and it produces an ill effect to the victim. A hex is generally considered less Dark than curses but it is still used to cause harm in a variety of ways."

"As usual, that is a definition in someone else's words, Miss Granger. Think for yourself. I wish to know what you consider to be a hex, not an author from a hundred years ago."

She blinked at him in surprise, somewhat thrown by his words, by the lack of biting insult. She couldn't remember an occasion when Snape had urged her to think before. "I think the same as the accepted definition, sir," she said quietly.

Something flickered across his face, something that could have been faint disappointment or simply derision. It was almost impossible to tell with his carefully impassive features. He snorted softly and turned away, resumed his slow, deliberate paces up and down the length of the classroom. Once again, his voice came low and even, that familiar intensity ringing out.

"A hex can be many things, therefore it is difficult to define. It means different things to different people, depending on how Dark their magic is. To some, a hex is a spell to temporarily incapacitate the victim or to prevent further spells being cast. To others, they are methods of causing serious injury without actually resorting to curses. A hex is as only as dangerous as the person casting it."

He paused abruptly and swung round to glare at them all until they grabbed their quills and began scribbling notes. He didn't often base his lessons on theory: Defence with Snape was a practical experience and he seemed determined that they gain capability in tackling Dark spells head-on. He rarely instructed them in defensive spells: Snape's fighting method was purely attack.

He paced until they had finished defining hexes for the written NEWT exam, impatiently flicking his wand at the blackboard so words formed on its surface.

"On the board are four of the less-harmful hexes. In pairs, you will take turns casting them. Do not do so casually: you are to treat this as if it is a duel. You may use defensive charms to repel but if you are hit, you and your partner will reverse the effects yourself." He reached the front of the classroom. "A volunteer for a demonstration, come forward."

Harry practically leapt off his chair in eagerness to volunteer to hex his most hated teacher. Snape's lip curled and he sneered as Harry stood defiantly before him.

"Very well, Potter. Using only the hexes on the board, you may attempt to cast on me."

Harry was a very good duellist and all the Gryffindor boys looked at each other in undisguised excitement at the possibility of seeing him hex Snape. Harry wasted no time in launching a rapid series of spells that Snape repelled with exaggerated ease. Moving rapidly, trying to cast from unexpected angles, Harry continued throwing hexes with increasing anger.

Snape's expression was one of extreme boredom as he deflected everything Harry shot at him for several more minutes before finally losing patience. He moved so sharply his wand motion was a blur and the next moment, Harry was flat on his back with his toenails bursting through the top of his shoes. Most of the class cracked up at the Toenail-Growing hex; even Ron was struggling to keep from laughing.

"Did you not learn how to perform non-verbal spells in your previous year at school, Potter?" Snape asked bitingly.

Harry hauled himself to his feet, scowling ferociously. "Yeah, I did."

"You refer to me as 'sir' or Professor when you speak to me. Despite being the Chosen One, I can assure you that you have no such status in my classroom."

Harry's eyes blazed with anger. "Yes, sir."

"Then did it not occur you to not to verbalise the spells you were sending?"

Harry's expression betrayed that he'd been so caught up in his desire to catch Snape off-guard that he hadn't even considered his casting methods. Struggling to walk with his toenails now at least a foot long and curling magnificently, he stalked back to his desk and threw himself into his seat. With a sigh, Hermione surreptitiously pulled out her wand under her own desk, pointing it at Harry's feet. Her non-verbal spell shrank his nails back to normal and repaired the holes in his shoes. Harry, furious in his humiliation, gave her a nod of thanks.

"As you are supposedly studying an advanced course," Snape glared at the rest of the class, "I expect you to be capable of casting non-verbal spells even in a duel. Pair up and get on with it. Miss Weasley, you will note the Bat-Bogey hex is _not_ on the board."

Ginny rolled her eyes and went to partner Luna. Hermione paired up with Neville, mostly to try and prevent him doing anything to draw Snape's wrath. He still wasn't confident in his spell-casting abilities, despite having proved himself in some very nasty situations, and was struggling to even send a Pepper-Breath hex without whispering the incantation under his breath. Hermione deflected them with ease as Snape prowled around the students, berating at Ron for brandishing his wand unnecessarily. He was forced to physically catch Luna as Ginny's over-zealous Hurling hex propelled the Ravenclaw into mid-air before sending her plummeting back towards the floor.

"Thank you, Professor," Luna said amiably, as if her near skull fracture had been mildly interesting, as Snape set her firmly back on her feet and threw a ferocious glare at Ginny. Had it been Harry, no doubt he would have been left to crash back to terra firma.

The lesson came to rather an abrupt end when Dean caught Seamus off-guard and in a panicked reaction, Seamus threw a Burning Hex that set half the classroom on fire. The other students hurriedly departed before the apoplectic Snape could eviscerate the singed Seamus in front of them.

X X X

Since his entire classroom now stank of burnt furniture and every window was wide open, bringing in the freezing Highlands air, Snape stalked back down to his dungeon office, cursing Gryffindors and their innate ability to cause chaos. His robes had imbibed the acrid stench and he scowled heavily at every student he passed as if it was their fault. One small Hufflepuff got so flustered to have attracted such rancour that he ran headfirst into the bust of Percival the Pompous. The bust was considerably sturdier than the student, which gave the Potions master some small gratification.

Safely in the cool, sensible sanctuary of his office, Snape warded the door against any students stupid enough to try and disturb him and flung off his teaching robe, tossing it unceremoniously over a chair until he could be bothered to deal with it. His frock coat swiftly joined it and he tugged impatiently at the buttons on his shirt collar until he no longer felt constrained by the garment, finally sinking into his desk chair.

Peace was a rare and precious commodity at Hogwarts and one that Snape rarely had time to indulge in. If it wasn't Death Eater or Order meetings demanding his presence, it was Dumbledore wanting updates, paperwork requiring attention or brewing the Infirmary potions stocks. Poppy Pomfrey was an outstanding Mediwitch but she had never been at ease with brewing and out of respect for the woman who had been an ally to him for many years, Snape had done the task for her since his early teaching years. If he was honest, he didn't mind. It seemed little repayment to someone who had denied Death his company on so many occasions.

And there were his House's needs. Slytherin were in many ways easier than the other Houses, more independent and largely self-sufficient, preferring to rely on themselves than others, and Snape encouraged this autonomy, but the fact remained they were still children and there were times when they needed guidance and even reassurance. Despite the character Snape presented, he had been a Head of House for many years and he had been responsible for the wellbeing of countless numbers of children, and although he was not particularly pleasant or approachable, even with his own House, the Slytherin students trusted him.

He suspected that these days most of the trust was due to the fact nearly all of their fathers were aligned with Voldemort but he chose not to dwell on that. In fact, he didn't want to dwell on anything at that particular moment. So early in the term and he was already exhausted. And nothing particularly bad had even happened yet.

That summer had been a hard one. Dumbledore had been mostly off gallivanting on his own little campaign and apart from a brief accompaniment that had effectively saved the older wizard's life and subsequently, and rather annoyingly, Potter's life as well, Snape had passed August at the Dark Lord's beck and call. He had spent the hottest month of the year feeling constantly chilled to the bone and that sensation, that psychological reaction he was unable to prevent, still invaded him.

Severus Snape was well aware of the flaws of his own character: it was impossible to work for a man as interfering as Albus Dumbledore for so long and not be forced to face up to one's faults. But he had never felt as far from redemption as he did now. Dumbledore saw the best in everyone, indeed made a point of doing so, and Snape had allowed himself to believe that his sacrifices for the Light, for Lily, had gone some way to redeeming his past. Now, everything he had seen, everything he had taken part in since the Dark Lord's return, had cast that shadow over his soul again.

He realised his fingers were unconsciously tracing the outline of the Dark Mark through his shirtsleeve. Annoyed at what was becoming a habit, he got abruptly to his feet and stalked across to his desk to find the hidden bottle, conjuring a glass that he snatched from mid-air as he did so.

When the sudden burning caught him off-guard and made him hiss instinctively in pain, he at first thought he was letting his imagination get the better of him. It came again, stronger, and he swore convulsively. He hurled the half-empty glass at the stone wall but its shattering gave him no satisfaction.

Summoning his mask and the robe he would never don until he was beyond the school walls, he left the dungeons via his private exit and began the long walk down the driveway towards the Apparition point. As he reached the ornate gates, he turned and sent the silvery ghost of his Patronus back up to the school.

X X X

Snape growled in frustrated impotence as he recognised the firm knock that echoed through his sitting room. Briefly, he considered ignoring it but concluded that would require more effort than the alternative.

He reluctantly opened the door to Minerva McGonagall. "Can't a man have a moment's peace in this damn place?"

"Good evening to you, as well," McGonagall said drily.

"What do you want, Erva?"

Her sharp eyes swept over him. "Albus said you'd been Summoned tonight. I came to check you're all right."

He stood aside and permitted her entry, aware she would not be put off. "As you can see, I'm unharmed. Tonight's meeting was mercifully brief."

McGonagall took her usual armchair. "You're shaking," she pointed out, quite unnecessarily, he thought.

"I'm cold. Bloody Scottish winter's already setting in."

He got a glare that would have reduced a Gryffindor first year to tears. "Are you going to talk to me or just growl idiotic statements all evening?"

"Actually, I'm going to get extremely drunk. Care to join me?"

McGonagall's lips twitched as she tried, and failed, to look disapproving. "Any particular reason?"

"I'm fed up of being sober, if that's a good enough reason for you."

"Then fetch me a glass and stoke that bloody fire. It's freezing down here."

He gave her a mocking smile, jabbed his wand towards the fireplace and levitated a glass of Ogden's to her. His liquor cabinet contained much stronger spirits, raw enough to dull even the strongest thoughts, but he was calm enough tonight that Firewhisky would suffice his needs. He saluted his visitor with his own glass and drained it in a single gulp, refilling it before taking his favoured leather armchair.

"I don't know how you do this," McGonagall said softly after they had sipped in silence for a few moments. "How does it not tear you apart mentally?"

"Years of practise," he drawled.

"And years of living a normal life as a relatively normal teacher hasn't affected your ability to act this role in the least?"

"What do you mean 'relatively'?"

"Sev." A warning note in her voice.

"What do you want me to say, Erva?"

"Say whatever you wish. I won't judge you."

His smile contained no humour. "You would regret making that promise."

"It's truly terrible, isn't it?" Minerva's voice was barely audible.

"Worse. But it's for a reason." He met her gaze. "I don't need to be worried over, Erva. I've done this all before."

"And last time it nearly destroyed you," she said crisply. "You forget I saw the effects the first war had on you."

"As if I could ever forget anything from the first war."

"And yet you agreed to go through it all again."

"I was hardly in a position to refuse," he said drily. McGonagall still didn't know everything; Dumbledore had given her an edited version of the story at Snape's insistence. "Anyway, tonight was not so bad."

"But something's bothered you."

"Shall I write you a list? Perhaps it was the discussion regarding the casual slaughter of Muggles. Or maybe the quick round of the Cruciatus on children I have taught since they were eleven. Or possibly I was merely irritated by the debate on whether Death Eater masks are truly fearsome or if they need a redesign."

"Don't make light of this, Sev. You mentioned Hogwarts children?"

"Crabbe and Goyle," he sighed. "They may be the lowest-ranked of pretty much all the followers but they're still stupid enough to try and get involved in things far beyond their remit and comprehension."

McGonagall took a much larger gulp of her drink. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, but I couldn't help but secretly harbour hopes…"

"Erva, don't be naïve. Practically all of last year's Slytherin graduates declared their allegiance the moment they graduated and you damn well know it. Most of them have kept their heads down so far, fortunately. Those two idiots simply don't have the sense they were born with."

"They're only eighteen, Sev."

"And are operating in a very adult world." He poured them both another glass. "I swore a long time ago to protect the students of Hogwarts, Erva. If I need to continue to do so beyond these walls, I will as far as I can. But I can't protect them from their own stupidity."

"And nor should you, I suppose. They made their choices and I'm sure they wouldn't hesitate to cause pain to another victim." McGonagall pursed her lips in an extremely transparent reaction, drank more Firewhisky, and changed the subject. "How have Potter and Weasley been in your classes?"

Snape smirked at her blatant attempt to provoke him into an argument unrelated to the previous discussion. "Arrogant, lazy and convinced they know it all."

"And you've been giving them a fair and unbiased chance, I suppose."

"Naturally," he smirked. "And don't cast your judgement on me while you're sitting there drinking my alcohol."

"My abject apologies."

"Bloody Gryffindors lack the subtlety to even be convincingly insincere."

McGonagall gave an extremely self-satisfied smile. Had she been in her feline form, she would no doubt have been grooming her whiskers. He attempted his most ferocious glare but several swiftly-drunk glasses of Ogden's preventing him from putting much effort into it. So he gave it up as a bad job, topped up both their glasses and let a companionable silence fall.

Normally, he hated to talk to anyone after Death Eater meetings. He usually returned angry and aggressive and willing to take it out on anyone who crossed his path. Tonight, though, he was strangely glad of McGonagall's steady, reassuring presence. He didn't feel rage tonight: he felt unsettled. And even though he couldn't tell her why, mentally he was struggling to remove the image of Draco casting the punishment Unforgivable on his childhood friends.

Green light flared in the fireplace, momentarily startling them both, and Dumbledore's head appeared. "Ah, Sev, you're back. Excellent. All is well, I trust?"

"No mass murder or spilt blood tonight," Snape replied shortly. He didn't like Floo calls; he found it faintly disturbing to talk to an apparently detached head.

"Jolly good. Good evening, Erva."

"Have you been at the Three Broomsticks?" McGonagall asked suspiciously.

"I just popped in to be courteous."

McGonagall snorted quite inelegantly. "You were gone rather a long while for a courteous visit."

"Alas, I am easily drawn into enlightened conversation." Dumbledore shook his head in what was presumably a regretful manner. "Ah well, I shall retire for the night. Fawkes woke me exceptionally early this morning when he burst into flames over the end of the bed. I do hate scorched sheets."

He withdrew with a gentle pop and the fire returned to a more normal colour.

"What's it like to work for a sane person?" Snape wondered idly. "I've only ever answered to lunatics."

"I wouldn't know," McGonagall replied.


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 5**

Hermione had got into the habit of escaping to Gryffindor Tower for a nap in her lunch break. She was finding her return to school exhausting: sleep stubbornly evaded her at night and she for the first time in her academic life, she was struggling to stay awake. Thank Merlin she hadn't continued with History of Magic.

"Hermione!" Ginny's voice stirred her from slumber. "Mione, are you ok?"

Hermione sat up sharply, wide awake at the concern in her friend's voice. "What? What's wrong?"

"You were calling out in your sleep." Ginny looked very uncomfortable. "And…you were crying."

Hermione realised her cheeks were wet and her eyes were stinging. She touched her face, surprised by the presence of tears. "What was I saying?"

Ginny looked even more uncomfortable. "Something about…um…you were basically shouting for your mum and dad."

Hermione hurriedly grabbed a tissue, as much to hide behind as to deal with the tears. "Sorry, Gin."

"Don't be sorry!" Ginny looked horrified that her reaction had been misinterpreted. "There's nothing wrong with it…I mean…not with missing your parents. The nightmares…they're not exactly normal, but…you know what I mean."

Hermione couldn't help but manage a weak smile. "Yeah, I know what you mean. I can't seem to help it. I'm ok when I'm awake – it just seems to be when I'm asleep, I lose control of my emotions."

"Everyone needs to get emotional sometimes. Even me."

"You get emotional about Quidditch, though. That probably gives you a better outlet than me."

"Mione, you get all worked up over Ancient Runes. Pot and kettle and all that." Ginny sat herself on the edge of Hermione's bed and hesitantly reached to take her hand. "Seriously, are you ok?

"Yes, I'm fine." Hermione crumpled the tissue and squeezed Ginny's hand back. "It doesn't last long."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"There's not a lot to talk about. I miss them, and I miss Crookshanks, and I get lonely at night, that's all."

"I'm always here," Ginny pointed out. "And the boys are only up the other stairs, thought that's not much of a comfort, I admit. You're never really alone here, Mione. It's not like when you were off doing whatever-the-hell-you-were-doing."

"I know. God, most of the time I crave a bit of solitude in this madhouse and it's impossible to get it." Hermione shook her head at her own contrariness. "Before, I always had Crooks if I was feeling a bit down. Now I feel sort of lost without him."

"Crooks is only at The Burrow and he'll be having a great time chasing the garden gnomes. You'll see him soon. Or you could bring him back to school."

"I agreed with your mum that it wasn't a good idea, in case anything happens. If we have to leave quickly or if the school comes under attack, he'd be in danger."

Ginny nodded her understanding. "You can talk to me anytime you need. And Luna's pretty good to chat to. She talks a lot of sense for someone who's absolutely bonkers. Come on, we're going to be late for Charms. I'm still three inches short for Flitwick's essay – maybe he'll forget to measure it."

She jumped off the bed and began pawing through the detritus covering her desk for the unfinished essay. Hermione Summoned her neatly-rolled scroll, gave her face a final scrub with another tissue, and shrugged into her robes.

The lesson was spent practising Confundus Charms which proved extremely difficult to cast non-verbally and resulted in most people just whispering the incantation under their breath. By the time the hour was up, a lot of the NEWT students were too confused to even hold their wands the right way round and stumbled out looking completely bemused.

"Ron, watch where you're walking!" Hermione just prevented Ron from rebounding off the classroom doorframe as he misjudged its width.

"Watch," Ron agreed cooperatively, allowing her to steer him in a straight line. Harry was struggling to put his tie back on, having insisted on taking it off for no apparent reason. Ginny had abandoned him and forged on ahead, declaring she was going to make a cake.

Hermione decided it was a good time to find some solitude and left them to their earnest discussion on the value of Stinksap. They didn't even notice her leave. The library turned out to be unexpectedly busy: Snape had set his OWL students an essay that had the entire year in hysterics and scouring every Defence book Hogwarts possessed.

She ended up strolling down to the lake, unable to think of anywhere else to go. It was not a warm day and no one else had ventured out near the water. The giant squid was in the shallows, waving its tentacles expectantly. It had developed a taste for Chocolate Frogs and grew hopeful any time a student appeared close to the lake. Hermione only had half a sandwich in her bag, which she unwrapped and tossed to the squid. Settling on the bench, she found her new copy of _Wizarding Britain at War_ and delved back into its account of the first war.

"Hi, Mione."

An undeterminable amount of time later, she looked up to find Harry standing over her, looking much more normal than he had done leaving the Charms classroom.

"Shaken off the Confundus?" she asked.

"Yeah," he grinned. "Took a while. McGonagall was going mental at us for keep bursting into her office claiming her Ginger Newts had escaped."

"I'm sure she knows biscuits aren't going to escape, Harry."

"Ginny figured that out pretty quick too. Shame she didn't get chance to bake a cake, though: I'm starving. How come you weren't as confused as the rest of us?"

"Because I don't think Neville actually managed to Confund me," she confided. "I just pretended for a bit. Besides, I think men are easier to Confund than women. Bit more susceptible."

Harry grinned again. "Well, I'm pretty normal again now. Can I sit down?"

"Sure." She made room for him on the bench and marked her place in her book. "Where's Ron?"

"Trying to climb the Witches of Wolverhampton tapestry on the fifth floor."

"I don't want to know."

Harry looked at the waving squid for a few moments. "Er…Ginny said you were crying in your sleep and shouting for your parents..." He rubbed the back of his neck, his personal tic when he was uneasy with something. "She wasn't telling tales or anything…she was just a bit worried about you."

Hermione for once didn't know how to reply, so she waited to see if Harry had a plan for the conversation.

He hesitated a bit too long, hoping for her to speak, before tentatively asking, "Does it…you know…happen often?"

"I don't think I usually shout out but sometimes I wake up crying. And sometimes I dream that I won't be able to find them again if we win the war."

"You never said." He sounded almost accusing. "And I never heard you crying when we were living in the tent."

"Have you never heard of silencing charms, Harry? I didn't mention it because there were already enough problems to deal with. Anyway, it wasn't so bad while we were away. I suppose I was focused on the Horcruxes and everything. It's only since we've come back to school, really, that the dreams have got like that."

"Do you think you should talk to someone about it?"

"Like who? McGonagall's not exactly the sympathetic type."

"I was thinking Madame Pomfrey, actually. She understands stuff like this. Better than me, anyway."

"I don't feel it's something I want to discuss. Not with anyone, really. I prefer to just think about it by myself." Hermione gave a mental shrug. She wondered if the boys had noticed how much more introspective she'd become in recent months, retreating into her books and her own thoughts rather than join in with their never-ending and very repetitive conversations about Voldemort, Horcruxes and the likelihood of victory.

"But you're ok, Mione, yeah?"

She smiled and reached out to squeeze his arm. "Yes, I'm ok, Harry."

He grinned in sheer relief. "If you ever do want to talk about it…"

"Don't worry, I think you've got enough to deal with in your own dreams, never mind mine."

X X X

The atmosphere in Dumbledore's office was somewhat tense. The two men stood on either side of the Headmaster's desk, the broken Horcrux ring between them.

"For Merlin's sake, Albus!" Snape rarely needed to raise his voice – he had the ability to command complete attention in barely a whisper – but now sheer frustration gave him volume. "You would have put that ring on your fucking finger if I hadn't practically wrestled you to the ground! You would have died on the fucking spot!"

Dumbledore, well used to Snape's more colourful vocabulary when struggling with stress or emotion, was completely unperturbed, though he didn't go so far as to give the Potions master his usual beatific smile.

"And I thank you for your intervention, Severus. I am very glad I chose you to accompany me."

"Damn my intervention! You took me along so I could prevent you entering the developed stages of senility?"

"No, I took you because I thought you would be more attuned to sensing Lord Voldemort's magic than I. That prediction proved rather accurate. I doubt I would have found it in the ruins; there was too much magical distortion to focus on one energy."

"So glad I could be of service," Snape snarled. "Dammit, Albus, you were blinded by your own desires, completely unable to focus on the danger. What the hell would have happened to the Order, to the entire war, if you'd died at that hovel?"

Dumbledore gave a small sigh but, as ever, didn't look remotely abashed. "You are not the only one haunted by love, my dear boy."

"So you saw the mark you associate with Grindelwald and decided it was the opportune moment to take leave of your senses, because of haunting love?" Snape put every ounce of sarcasm he possessed into those words.

Dumbledore held his dark gaze. "I did not desire the ring because of any association with Gellert. I had a very different reason for losing my head somewhat." The older wizard's eyes moved once again to the ugly ring. "Do you know what the black stone is?"

"You refer to the so-called Resurrection Stone? Don't insult my intelligence, Albus, of course I know what it is. What I do not understand, however, is why it is still sitting on your desk."

"The Hallows, Sev. All three of them, now within the walls of Hogwarts."

Just for second, Snape was thrown. He had never had much of an opinion whether the Deathly Hallows were real or merely a children's tale, mostly because he didn't really care, but even Dumbledore wasn't usually mad enough to make claims like that. He felt the crease between his eyebrows deepen as he fitted the pieces of the old man's claim together.

"Potter's Cloak is clearly the second, but the third? You're saying the Elder Wand is here?"

He had to fight to prevent his jaw from dropping in disbelief as Dumbledore reached into his own sleeve and drew out the long, dark-wooded wand Snape had seen countless times but never really paid much attention to. He stared at it for rather too long, trying to focus his racing mind.

"You really do have some secrets, Albus," he finally said, trying to sound completely nonchalant about the revelation. "How did you come by it?"

"I acquired it many years ago. Following a rather famous duel."

Snape raised one eyebrow. This really was becoming an evening of revelations. "Grindelwald possessed the Elder Wand?"

Dumbledore examined the Death Stick as if he had never seen it before and Snape was struck by the intense sadness in the older wizard's expression. He looked away quickly as tears formed in Dumbledore's expressive blue eyes.

"Gellert did some truly terrible acts with this wand before I Disarmed him," Dumbledore eventually said softly. "I like to think I have done mostly good with it during my time as its master. But the fact remains that, like Gellert, I desired the Hallows above all else. And still do to this day."

Snape's gaze landed on the Resurrection Stone once again and he scowled fiercely at it, blaming it for this whimsy he was being forced to endure. "Dumbledore, this is all very nice and interesting but it's irrelevant to the matter you called me here to discuss. The Hallows will not help us win the war."

"But they may cause us to be defeated. One of them, at least. I have received information that Lord Voldemort has come to realise the existence of the Elder Wand, and now desires it most strongly."

"I haven't heard of this. From where did you receive this information?"

"I went to visit Ollivander in St Mungo's. You did well to get him there; I'm sure another night of Lord Voldemort's company would have cost him his life."

Snape snorted. "I grew tired of his screaming. He couldn't provide the Dark Lord with answers he required, anyway. Ollivander didn't understand why no wand the Dark Lord tried could defeat Potter's."

"He provided the answer of the Elder Wand," Dumbledore pointed out.

"Out of sheer desperation. He'd been tortured within an inch of death." Snape turned abruptly, strode to the window to look out over the darkened grounds. "What did he tell you?"

"Very little. I fear he will never fully recover from his ordeal. He told me Voldemort was determined to become the master of the Elder Wand, believing it would give him the means to defeat Harry's wand. However, as Ollivander still has no idea I, not Gregorovitch, possess the Wand, Lord Voldemort is a long way from finding it."

"And what if he gets somewhat closer?" Snape asked sardonically. "He has a rather annoying habit of doing that."

"That is why I wanted to raise this issue with you. I fear, should he come closer to discovering the Wand's whereabouts, you will be brought in to assist him. It was doubtful he would trust anyone else and you are, of course, ideally placed, should he realise I am the current master."

"Happy bloody days," Snape growled. "It's not as if I have any other duties to perform for either of you. Now you want me to protect the fucking Death Stick?"

"Only when the time comes. But I fear it will come before too long. No doubt you will find out before me."

"I'll try and remember to inform you. Do you really believe the Elder Wand will be able to overcome the connection between the Dark Lord and Potter?"

"I have no idea," Dumbledore said cheerfully. "Wandlore was never my forte. However I'd rather the opportunity to find out did not come to pass."

"Wonderful, I can hardly wait to try and distract the Dark Lord from your little toy. Was there anything else or can I go and drink myself in to a quiet little stupor?"

Of course there was something else. There always was. And judging by the placating expression on Dumbledore's face, it wasn't going to be anything Snape liked.

"I think we should tell Harry."

"Tell him what?" Snape growled, although he had already guessed the answer.

"About your role in the Order."

"No, Albus."

"He already suspects you're a double agent."

"He hasn't got the perceptiveness to suspect anything vaguely accurate."

"The boy believes you are on the Dark side, Sev. He has believed so for a long time, despite my best efforts. If we are to win this war, we cannot afford to distrust each other. Harry needs to know you are both on the same side. He must understand you are our ally."

"No."

"Severus…"

"Which part of 'no' does your brilliant mind not understand? My role is none of Potter's business. Nothing will convince him to trust me, not even you, and I assure you I am perfectly comfortable with his hatred."

Dumbledore reached for the sherbet lemon dish. Snape adopted his most severe expression as the sweets were waved in his direction and Dumbledore quietly withdrew the dish, selecting one for himself.

"I have no intention of telling Harry your reasons," he said benignly. "I promised a long time ago I would keep your secret."

Snape rubbed at his eyes. Suddenly he felt very tired, decades older than his years. He realised he didn't really care to argue anymore. It never got him anywhere. He jerked his head and turned away, ending the conversation.

"Severus," Dumbledore called softly as Snape pulled open the door. The Potions master paused in mid-step but did not turn back to face the Headmaster.

"I have not forgotten that I had not made the decision to take you with me to Little Hangleton, and had you not acted as swiftly as you did to prevent me putting on the ring, not only would I not have united the Hallows, it is likely I would not be on this earth at all. For that, I am in your debt."

"I don't want your debt, Albus," Snape said crisply and strode out of the office. And almost knocked the Boy Wonder straight down the spiral staircase. They glared at each other for a minute, neither making a move to allow the other past.

The boy appeared completely unchanged, despite having spent a year supposedly growing up. A little broader-shouldered, wider-necked, stubble more pronounced, but still a messy-haired, untidy example of a teenager convinced he had reached manhood but in reality still far away from maturity. He was struggling with a return to a structured, rule-governed regime, uncomfortable with being the oldest whilst gaining no real benefit from being so. And he still had that uncontrollable, near-constant anger – the frustration burned in Lily's green eyes as they glared fiercely at the Potions master.

At least, for once, he didn't have Weasley and Granger trailing after him looking gormless and bossy respectively.

"You in this meeting as well?" the boy asked between gritted teeth. "Sir?"

"I assure you, Potter, I have no wish to see any more of you than I absolutely have to. Nor do I want to hear whatever rubbish you insist on discussing with the Headmaster."

Leaving the boy staring furiously after him and trying to think of an appropriate and undoubtedly idiotic retort, he swept off to the sanctuary of the dungeons.

X X X

Harry scrambled through the portrait hole. He was moving jerkily and overly fast, a tell-tale sign that he was agitated and upset. He didn't sit down, pacing before them in front of the fire, dragging his fingers through his messy hair. Hermione gave a quiet sigh and put down her book. She had hoped the evening's meeting with Dumbledore would have calmed her friend but it seemed to have done the opposite.

Ron had been playing Exploding Snap with himself as they waited for Harry's return – he had made them promise not to go to bed until he came back. It was the early hours of the morning and the explosions had been the only thing keeping Hermione awake. Now he set the cards aside and looked uncertainly at her, as if asking her whether Harry needed restraining or not.

"He doesn't get it," Harry eventually burst out with, his voice tight, ropey muscles in his neck straining. "Dumbledore, he hasn't got a clue."

"But he always gets it," Ron protested, looking somewhat shocked at Harry's anger towards the man he hero-worshipped.

"Not about this. He expects us to lock all our thoughts and feelings away in little boxes and open them up again when he says so."

"Harry, just tell us what he said!" Hermione ordered, unimpressed.

"He said he didn't want us to worry about the Horcruxes for now." Harry's eyes were alight with frustration. "He said focus on getting our NEWTs while we can, because the war may erupt at any time. Like he thinks we can forget about everything he's told us and just ignore the Horcruxes because it's more important to get a few bits of paper!"

"I'm sure he didn't mean that, Harry," Hermione said calmly before her friend could erupt. "Maybe there's just nothing else we can do for now. We've no clue where the other Horcruxes are and we can't just go running off chasing nothing again. We've got to trust Dumbledore – as soon as he works out anything else about possible locations, he'll let you know."

Harry didn't seem reassured by that and Ron looked as angry as his best friend, presumably because it now seemed even less likely he would have the glory of destroying another part of Voldemort's soul.

"Dumbledore knows how frustrated you feel," Hermione insisted. "Ron's right, he always understands you. I know this isn't what you want to hear, but you've just got to be patient. We've got no other choice. We'll get another chance

"Did you talk about anything else?" Ron asked hopefully.

"Snape saved Dumbledore from being cursed by that ugly Horcrux ring," Harry said abruptly.

Ron and Hermione exchanged surprised glances at that news.

"I was at the top of the stairs and Snape was coming out of the office. I heard Dumbledore call after him, thanking him for what he did. And he said something about uniting the Harrows."

"Why the hell did Dumbledore take that git with him in the first place?" Ron asked. "Why didn't he take you?"

"Presumably because Snape is a more powerful and accomplished wizard than a teenager," Hermione snapped, annoyed at the interruption. "Go on, Harry, what's this about Harrows?"

"No idea. I didn't really think much of it straight away, 'cos Dumbledore started talking about concentrating on school and all that rubbish. But what are the Harrows?"

"Never heard of them," Ron and Hermione said together.

"Great, another bloody mystery."

"So what happened when Dumbledore and Snape went to Little Hangleton?" Hermione asked.

"Dumbledore tried to put the ring on." Harry shrugged. "I asked him why he wanted to wear it and he said something about ghosts. I didn't really get it. Anyway, Snape stopped him and they sort of had a bit of fight, I think, and Snape did some spell on the ring that showed what protections it had. And Dumbledore realised the curse it carried would have killed him instantly if he had worn it."

"Snape saved Dumbledore's life?" Ron said in disbelief. "I reckoned he'd never save anyone except himself."

"He saved Harry from Quirrell's Quidditch curse," Hermione pointed out. "And us from Remus when he was transformed."

"Yeah…but…that was different."

"How?"

"It just was. Snape's a git, end of story."

"Well argued, Ronald, as ever."

"Stop it, you two!" Harry interrupted. "Dumbledore would be dead without Snape. I don't like the thought of it either, Ron, but that's the truth."

"The world's gone mad."

"It went mad well over a year ago," Hermione said. "Did Dumbledore tell you anything else?"

"He didn't really get chance…I was a bit angry after what he'd said about leaving the Horcruxes alone for now. So I grabbed the ring and…sort of said he was more interested in tracking down the Horcruxes himself." Just for a second, Harry looked a bit ashamed. "I said he'd gone after the ring without telling anyone and…er…I might have yelled at him a bit about using us to try and find them for him to destroy."

"Mate, it's never a good idea to yell at the headmaster," Ron said uncomfortably.

"And why would Dumbledore want the Horcruxes for himself?" Hermione pointed out sensibly. "He doesn't need any more glory – his list of accomplishments is already longer than Hadrian's Wall."

"I know that," Harry snapped, "I was just a bit unreasonable at the time."

They looked at each other, unsure how to respond to that in a way that wouldn't set Harry off again.

"I'm going to bed." Ron got to his feet. "I'm actually starting to think something positive about Snape and that's scary as hell. See you upstairs, Harry. Night, Mione."

He loped off up to the dormitory he and Harry now shared, his heavy footsteps undoubtedly loud enough to wake Dean, Seamus and Neville next door. Harry flopped down on the sofa beside Hermione, letting out an enormous sigh.

"It's ok, Harry," she said quietly.

"It's not, though, is it? Why can't I control myself, Mione?" He looked at her as if she had a ready answer, like she always did. "I hate this anger. I hate that it's part of me."

"You've been through a lot," she said, needing to offer him some comfort but not really sure how.

"So have you."

"Not as much as you, Harry. You've lost so much. You've had to face so much danger. It's understandable that you get angry."

"But I'm angry even when I wake up in the morning. It never stops, Mione."

"You do have some…control issues, admittedly."

"What can I do to stop it?"

"I honestly don't know, Harry," she said reluctantly. "I wish I could give you an answer that would just make everything better, but I can't."

"No," he said softly, after a momentary pause. "Nothing's that easy anymore."

He stared hard into the fire for a moment, his blazing eyes finally beginning to extinguish their rage until he finally sat back and tried to smile at her. When he was calm, when he wasn't consumed by his own thoughts, he still looked just like the disorganised, optimistic boy Hermione had met seven years ago.

On impulse, she reached out and hugged him. His arms closed around her and he hugged back tightly, holding on for several minutes. When they parted, he looked better.

"Dumbledore wanted to show me a memory but he said I'd got too angry to pay full attention to it. He said I wouldn't understand what he was trying to show me."

"He was probably right. You're still too agitated to think straight."

Harry raked at his hair again, making the front stand bolt upright. "I have to go back tomorrow evening, to view the memory. Will you come with me?"

"If Dumbledore doesn't mind, of course I will."

"He knows I'll tell you and Ron anyway, he won't mind."

"You don't want Ron to come?"

"Not really. Dumbledore said it involves Snape and Ron will probably just call him a git again. You'll actually pay attention to what's going on."

Hermione smiled at him as she got up. "That's the most perceptive thing you've said in ages."


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER 6**

It was a shame, Snape managed to reflect, that the brats he taught couldn't see him now. Sprawled on the cold floor, mouth filled with blood from biting his own tongue fighting not to cry out, every muscle alight with white-hot fire, waiting for the next soft, well-enunciated utterance of "Crucio". Would they be so quick to mutter 'git' under their breaths having seen him writhe in agony, his pure stubbornness the only thing preventing him from screaming? Would they be grudgingly forced to respect the fact the despised Professor Snape was strong enough to bear this torture without a sound? Would they finally understand he was human, or would he seem the opposite in his ability to bear this with such stoicism?

He supposed it didn't matter, anyway. The whole reason he was in the position to receive this punishment was to protect the brats from seeing the world as it was becoming. But it would be nice to feel vindicated for once.

"You have disappointed me, Severus." His name emerged from the inhuman lips in a hiss.

He couldn't speak yet, could barely manage to draw breath, so he settled for trying to look appropriately remorseful despite feeling the exact opposite. The wand remained pointed at his shaking form a moment longer before finally being lowered, indicating the torture was finally at an end.

Hauling himself to his feet, barely able to keep his balance as the world spun around him, Snape inclined his head in a painful bow towards his master. Pain blazed in his chest, one shoulder was a mass of agony, but his expression was completely impassive.

"All I asked of you was to find out the plan Dumbledore has for the boy. Yet you fail at such a simple task."

"And I apologise, my lord," Snape ground out, hearing the rasp in his usually smooth voice, "but as yet there doesn't seem to be any clear plan for Potter since his return to Hogwarts."

"There is always a plan, Severus, as you well know."

"I shall continue my efforts to uncover it, my lord."

"Yes, that would be best. For you, especially." The Dark Lord turned away, finally ready to return to the main meeting. Snape silently thanked a deity he didn't believe in that he held a high-enough status not to be punished in front of others. "Severus, I have a question for you."

What now? Are you going to ask me to resurrect Merlin to join your little campaign, maybe? "Yes, my lord?"

"Do you believe in the existence of the Elder Wand?"

Snape creased his brow in a frown, making sure he took his time in replying. Internally, he was silently yelling 'fuck' repeatedly at this unexpectedly swift progress. "I had not given it much consideration, my lord. I suppose it is…possible…that it is real."

"Ollivander believes that is so."

"Ollivander believes a lot of things, my lord, not all them correct."

A moment's silence, and Snape waited to see if his answer had been deemed acceptable. Voldemort flexed his unnaturally long fingers thoughtfully. "Perhaps we should see what Mr Gregorovitch has to say on the subject. Come, Severus, your fellows await our meeting."

Forcing himself not to limp, Snape followed his master back into the cold, silent room, hoping that the inevitable monologue would not go on for too long.

X X X

Dumbledore didn't seem particularly surprised when Hermione followed Harry into his office. The Pensieve sat ready, awaiting them, and Hermione couldn't help casting a glance at it. She had not used one before and she couldn't deny her apprehension, particularly knowing that the memories may well lead to Harry losing his temper in spectacular style.

"You don't mind that I brought Hermione with me, sir?" Harry asked, somewhat uncertainly. His encounters with Dumbledore's Pensieve had always been private viewings until now.

"Not at all, Harry, I have always said you're at liberty to discuss whatever you learn here with your friends. Good evening, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said. "Would you care for a sweet? I always find they help calm one's thoughts."

"Thank you, sir." Hermione accepted a sherbet lemon, slightly perturbed that the headmaster could read her feelings so easily. She looked behind Dumbledore to her Head of House. "Hello, Professor."

"I have asked Professor McGonagall to join us for reasons that will become clear subsequently," Dumbledore said. "Harry, as I explained yesterday, I wish for you to understand Professor Snape's role in the war and I think the best way to do so is via selected memories of mine. Miss Granger, I suspect you are here for moral support?"

"Harry thinks I may see things more objectively, sir," Hermione said tactfully, not missing the approving noise from McGonagall's direction.

"An excellent idea. As Wizard Orthos can confirm, two heads are better than one. He acquired the second head accidentally, of course…"

"Albus," McGonagall interrupted sternly, as if this wasn't the right time for Wizard Orthos's cranial woes.

Dumbledore inclined his head in polite apology and spread his hands to the Pensieve. "We will not accompany you for your viewing. Harry, you know what to do."

Harry took Hermione's hand, leading her to stand before the shimmering basin. "Just bow over it and we'll fall in. Best to hold your breath for a second. Ready?"

She made sure she had a firm grip on his hand before drawing a deep breath and copying Harry's deep bow. It felt like she was falling forward into a dark abyss, gravity taking control, and the sudden cold was enough of a shock to make her forget to hold her breath. Then she was upright and the temperature was normal again. It took her a moment to get her bearings before she was able to take in her surroundings. Harry kept hold of her hand and she could feel the tension radiating from him.

She realised they were standing in the hospital wing. The memory Harry was in one of the beds, surrounded by Ron, Hermione and Mrs Weasley. Snape and Dumbledore stood at the foot of the bed, watching Sirius in his Animagus form leaving at a trot. The real Harry took an involuntary step forward, ready to pursue the ghost of his godfather, his face contorted as he tried to control a wave of emotion at unexpectedly seeing the man he had loved so fiercely.

"Harry, it's not him," she whispered, grabbing his arm to still him. "It's not really Sirius, you know that."

He glanced at her is if suddenly remembering she was there; tears he was trying to prevent gleamed in his eyes and his taut muscles said he was fighting himself to prevent going after his godfather.

"Harry, you have to concentrate." She gave his arm a shake, needing him to snap out of the grief that was once again rearing its head. "Focus on what Dumbledore's seeing. Come on, you can do it."

Harry visibly shook himself and dragged his gaze away from the departing black dog, looking to the memory-Dumbledore with uncertain control. Hermione had her own very clear memories of this night but she had been mostly focused on the aftermath; now she was able to see Snape's clenched jaw and tightly-controlled breathing. He was scared, she realised, an emotion she had never imagined she would see in the assured, confident professor.

"Severus, you know what I must ask you to do. If you are ready…if you are prepared…"

Snape swallowed hard, beads of sweat obvious on his forehead. "I am," he said and his usually strong, effortless voice was strained.

"Then good luck." Dumbledore sounded equally tense, an unreadable emotion glimmering in his blue eyes as he looked directly at Snape. From the bed, the four observers watched silently. Molly Weasley, Hermione noticed, looked positively terrified, though she wasn't sure if the fear was directed towards Harry or the two adult wizards.

Snape strode from the room and all the memory-people around the bed exchanged bemused glances.

"Can we follow him?" Hermione asked the real Harry.

"No, we can only see what Dumbledore does. He leaves in a second – we can go with him then."

A few moments later, Dumbledore made his excuses and withdrew from the hospital wing. The real Harry strode after him without a second thought and Hermione hurried to catch up. The headmaster hastened down the numerous staircases, which all seemed to align themselves conveniently for him and set off across the castle towards his own office.

"Albus!" McGonagall's voice echoed in the empty corridor as she caught up with him after several minutes. "Hagrid has gone to get Olympe and will bring her to your office. How is Potter?"

"Sleeping. He's taken Dreamless Sleep. I'm just on my way to see Amos and his wife."

"And Severus?"

"He has gone to answer the Summons."

McGonagall drew an audible breath. "How long has it been since the Mark burnt?"

"Two hours," Dumbledore replied quietly.

"Do you think he'll be all right?"

"We can only hope, Erva. Severus is strong and he knows what he's doing. And we do not know how many of Lord Voldemort's former followers will answer his call – it has been a long time since he ruled them. Severus may not be the only late arrival."

"He is risking so much, Albus."

"He knows the reasons why. Ultimately, it was his own choice." Dumbledore sighed and looked directly at his deputy. "Come and have a drink, Erva. You should hear what I must discuss with Hagrid and Olympe."

"I would like to wait until we receive word from Severus, as well."

"I have told him to send his Patronus when he reaches the gates. I do not know what state he will return in."

McGonagall's expression became rather fixed. "Let us hope he does return."

The two professors walked away down the corridor and a fog settled momentarily, signalling a chance to the next memory. Now they were outside, the ornate wrought-iron gates of Hogwarts at their backs. It was a warm summer's night but, as usual, the Scottish darkness was unyielding and it took a moment for their eyes to adjust. McGonagall raised her wand, illuminating its tip, revealing a heap of black cloth laying at her feet. It took Hermione a moment to realise the cloth covered a person. Snape had returned to Hogwarts, and by the look of him, was barely clinging to consciousness.

She forgot Harry was with her, moving forward for a clearer view, realising she was holding her breath.

"Sev." Dumbledore's voice was infinitely gentle as he knelt beside the fallen Potions master. "My dear boy, how bad was it?"

"I've attended better parties," Snape gasped after an agonising moment, his voice raw with pain.

"Were you the last?"

Another moment of struggle. "Yes."

"Albus, he can barely speak," McGonagall said, crouching down and shining her lit wand over her colleague's shaking form. "At least let us get him to Poppy first."

"We need to know, Erva, I'm sorry. Sev, did he accept your return to him?"

Snape gave a painful cough and spat out a mouthful of blood, squeezing his eyes tight shut. "Wasn't happy…but yes."

Relief was clearly identifiable in Dumbledore's face. "You have shown incredible courage tonight, dear boy. I thank you for what you did."

Hermione looked uncertainly to Harry as fog descended again, seeing a spectrum of emotions playing across his face. His fists were tightly clenched but he didn't seem to be angry. If anything, she would say he was completely bewildered by what they were being shown.

When the fog faded this time, they were in Dumbledore's office. Snape was younger now, at least by a decade, but his features were marred with anguish, raw emotion burning in his eyes as he looked up at Dumbledore. Tear tracks had left stains down his pale cheeks and he was noticeably shaking. Whatever had happened, it had torn Snape apart. He looked as if his world had collapsed around him.

"Never tell, Dumbledore. This must be between us. Swear it!" There was brief distortion of the air, a wavering that looked almost like translucent smoke, and the voices of the two men became momentarily muffled, like a radio losing signal, but the scene had cleared before Hermione could work out what had happened.

"I want your word," Snape rasped.

Dumbledore's expression was one of deep sadness as he regarded the younger man. "My word, Severus, that I shall never reveal the best of you?"

And the scene abruptly changed again. Still Dumbledore's office, but Snape closer to his present age and McGonagall, Professor Sprout and Professor Flitwick were now present. They all sat grouped around Dumbledore's desk, except Snape, who stood as if delivering a lecture to a class.

"And that," Snape was concluding, "is where we are at the present time."

By the looks on Sprout and Flitwick's faces, whatever Snape had told them had been something they had not prepared themselves for.

"How long have you been doing this for, Sev?" Sprout asked carefully.

"Since Diggory died. The Dark Mark regenerated itself that night and I answered the Summons, as I had agreed with Albus." Snape looked from Sprout to Flitwick, his expression completely unreadable.

"You're putting yourself at great risk," said Flitwick after a moment.

"Filius, I turned spy against the Dark Lord many years ago. What I am doing now is merely a reprisal of that role. As long as he believes I am loyal to him, as long as I am able to continue acting for the Order undetected, I am at no greater risk than any other Death Eater."

Sprout and Flitwick both flinched noticeably at the term Death Eater.

"Personally," Snape continued softly, "I do not care about what is discussed about me in the staffroom nor in the common rooms. I know there are many here who were distrustful of me when I first renounced and still are today. The only reason I am having this conversation with you is because…"

"Because I believe it is important we can all look each other in the eye over breakfast," Dumbledore interjected. "Filius, Pomona, I invited you here tonight so you could see, once and for all, that Severus is our spy, not Lord Voldemort's."

"You must admit, Sev, you don't make it easy to decide where your loyalties truly lie," Flitwick squeaked.

"I would be a pretty poor spy if I displayed them openly, Filius," Snape replied and the sarcasm in his voice was humorous enough that all of the teachers smiled. It seemed, despite his defences, that he liked Flitwick. "I assure you, I have nothing to gain by providing information that would lead to the Light's downfall. And that is the only reassurance I am prepared to provide you with. You will make your own decision as to whether you trust my loyalty or not."

"I hardly think you would choose to be a double agent for an enjoyable life," Sprout said quietly.

Something flickered briefly in Snape's eyes as he looked at the Head of Hufflepuff but it was gone before Hermione could focus on it. "My reasons are my own, Pomona. Do not ask me to explain them."

"I don't think I'd dare," she retorted, daring to give him a brief smile that, judging by the twitch of his lips, he almost returned. "You're very brave, Sev."

"This isn't bravery," Snape said, his tone dismissive now. Now he was looking directly at Dumbledore. "This is atonement."

The surroundings began to fade, becoming blurred and distorted, and Hermione realised the memory was at an end. A moment later, she and Harry had risen back through the Pensieve and were once again standing in Dumbledore's office in the present time. Dumbledore's expression was one of benign interest; McGonagall's was slightly warier.

"Snape really is spying on Voldemort?" Harry demanded instantly.

"That is what I wanted you to know, Harry, yes."

"Did you know about this, Professor?" Harry asked, looking to McGonagall.

"Don't be ridiculous, Potter, of course I knew," she said sharply. "I was in the memories, wasn't I?"

"Er…" Harry looked rather sheepish. "Oh yeah."

"I know you will be somewhat perturbed by what you've seen but do try not to lose all semblance of intelligence."

Harry was momentarily abashed but recovered quickly. "Do you really believe him?"

"Potter." The Scottish voice was warning. "The reason you have been shown these memories is to demonstrate, once and for all, that there is no question about Professor Snape being on our side."

"Harry, perhaps Miss Granger would like to contribute to our discussion," Dumbledore said quietly.

Hermione had been deep in thought, working through the nuances of each memory in her own head, and jumped as she heard her name. Dumbledore was a picture of patience as he waited politely for her to respond, unwrapping a sweet to pass the time.

"The first memory, after the Goblet of Fire final task," she said eventually. "I wondered at the time what you'd sent Professor Snape to do, sir. I wondered if it had anything to do with what Harry had seen when he discovered your Pensieve for the first time."

"And what did you conclude?"

Hermione shifted uncomfortably. "I didn't conclude anything, sir. I wasn't sure whose side Professor Snape was on. I thought maybe, since he had turned spy once before, he might have done so again. But I wasn't sure for who."

"And are you now convinced?"

"I've no reason to doubt you or the other professors, sir," she replied carefully.

"Why does Snape care what we believe about it?" Harry asked, and Hermione could hear the confusion in his voice. Her friend couldn't see why it was so important to Dumbledore that they trusted Snape.

"He doesn't, quite truthfully."

"So why does this matter?"

"Because when this war erupts, Harry, and at some point it will, I want you to know who you can turn to for help."

Harry's expression openly declared that he would rather trust a Grindylow for help then Severus Snape but Dumbledore appeared to overlook that issue.

"It may be," the headmaster said softly, "that we will need help in uncovering the rest of the Horcruxes."

"Professor McGonagall can help," Harry replied quickly.

"Not my area of expertise, Potter," McGonagall said drily. "Concealed portions of evil souls were never part of my education."

"Does Professor Snape want to hunt for Horcruxes as well?" Hermione doubtfully asked Dumbledore.

"Not particularly. In fact, not at all, really, but his knowledge and set of skills is very useful in our pursuit. His ultimate aim is to see Lord Voldemort fall and I believe he will be persuadable to assisting in the destruction of his soul."

"But he's not actually said that," Harry interrupted.

Dumbledore looked amused. "Not in so many words, no."

"So he might not help us at all!" Harry said in exasperation.

McGonagall gave him another stern look. "Potter, Severus Snape has assisted you in more ways than you know."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, unable to disguise his derision.

"Professor McGonagall means that a lot of what Professor Snape does is unseen and unacknowledged," Dumbledore interjected smoothly.

Whether the headmaster was prepared to elaborate further or not was never established, for they were interrupted by the door to the office swinging open. Harry and Hermione spun round to see who the new arrival was.

Snape stood very still, looking directly at Dumbledore as if no one else was in the room, seemingly determined to ignore the presence of two-thirds of the Golden Trio. All his weight to one side and his equilibrium looked questionable. His expression declared that either he hadn't known of this meeting or he had forgotten about it. Either way, he wasn't happy to find the office full of Gryffindors.

"I didn't realise you were engaged, Headmaster," he muttered, leaning noticeably against the doorframe.

Confused, Hermione stared openly at him. For the first time she could remember, she didn't feel intimidated by his presence. It was impossible to feel anything but empathy when it was obvious the man could barely stand, when trails of blood ran from his nose and the corner of his mouth. And with the memories she had just seen fresh in her mind, she was not entirely surprised by the rush of sympathy she experienced.

Who'd have thought the fearsome Professor Snape would ever be seen in such as a state as to evoke compassion?


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER 7**

Dumbledore really needed to get some sort of sign to attach to his office door, warning if he was busy having idiotic discussions with nosy teenagers, Snape decided. He would be sure to suggest it at the next staff meeting, if he survived long enough to attend.

Granger's expression was one of almost fright as she stared at him. Potter had settled for his default bemused look, unsure how to react. Minerva seemed to be making a point of not looking at him, as if knowing he was in no state to want or appreciate the sympathy in her eyes.

Dumbledore's gaze swept over him, noting the awkward stance and the rigidity of his body. "You're back early tonight."

"A mercifully brief outing," he said without a trace of humour. He couldn't even be bothered glaring at bloody Potter and bloody Granger. "I'll come back when your meeting is concluded.

"Go to Poppy, Sev," Dumbledore said gently. "I shall meet you there."

He opened his mouth to protest, mostly for Potter and Granger's benefit, that there was absolutely no need for him to attend the hospital wing but he was struggling to breathe now and he could feel broken ribs grating with every effort. It would be mortifying if he crawled off to his rooms and died of internal bleeding whilst knocked out by Dreamless Sleep.

The ordeal of negotiating the stairs of the tower seemed endless and by the time he reached the door, he was barely keeping his feet. The curse itself did not cause broken bones but the uncontrollable convulsions meant it was often impossible to keep from crashing into heavy objects. And Voldemort's favourite trick was to launch his victim high into the air mid-curse, sending them crashing back to earth at full force.

Poppy Pomfrey had clearly already been informed; she was waiting by the closest bed, an array of potions and bandages ready. He saw her flinch and knew she had almost reached out to him. In his mind, it was weakness enough to have to accept help; he would not allow support as well.

Lowering himself onto the edge of the bed, unable to stop a hiss escaping from between his teeth, he tried to control his breathing. He flinched as Poppy gently took hold of his wrist, checking his pulse.

"How bad?" she asked softly.

"Could be worse," he ground out, easing himself flat onto the mercifully soft mattress. Her wand hovered over him, not touching, as she traced it slowly along his limbs, across his torso, the charm revealing the worst areas to her.

"Broken ribs, shoulder dislocation, spleen rupture, minor jaw fracture," Poppy murmured to herself.

"I'm glad it's minor to you," he muttered, earning himself a poke from her wand in his uninjured shoulder.

She handed him the Blood Replenisher – the damn stuff tasted like those Parma Violet sweets Dumbledore had become obsessed with last Christmas – and pretended not to notice his struggle to drink through his swollen jaw. The Coagulation potion she immediately followed it with was particularly vile due to the armadillo bile but he wanted to retain possession of his spleen so he knocked it back quietly, feeling the icy stab in his abdomen that told him the bleeding was being stemmed.

A series of sharp cracks resounded as the mediwitch healed the rib fractures and his entire body jerked as she reduced the shoulder dislocation. He growled a stream of curses that Poppy completely ignored, touching her wand carefully to his jaw.

It was a shame that none of the skeletal injuries were the main cause of the pain but at least he could now breathe and use his right arm again. If he could just control the muscle spasms and eliminate the white-hot bullets coursing through every joint in his body, he would happily sleep for several days.

Of course, there was absolutely no chance of even a quick nap, even without the little inconvenience of agonising pain, because his employer had arrived to add further irritation to the situation.

"He's going after Gregorovitch," Snape said immediately, before the headmaster could even open his mouth. "He thinks the Wand is still in Hungary."

"What wand?" McGonagall demanded. "Are you concussed?"

"Mostly probably."

"Then what are you talking about?"

Snape raised an eyebrow to his employer, not about to answer that question. Dumbledore looked slightly abashed as he admitted, "The Elder Wand."

"You didn't know?" Snape managed to focus enough to be very surprised at this revelation. He always assumed that Minerva McGonagall knew everything long before he did; she had been Dumbledore's closest confidant for decades.

"Shall I pretend to know what you're talking about?" Her annoyance was clear in the crisp, biting ends to her words. "What, may I ask, does the Elder Wand have to do with anything?"

Snape exchanged a brief glance with Dumbledore. "Everything, it seems. Show her, Albus, for Merlin's sake, before she turns us both into tadpoles."

McGonagall looked like that was exactly what she planned on doing, until Dumbledore shook his wand from his sleeve and wordlessly held it out to her. Eyes narrowed, she took it hesitantly and examined it.

"Please tell me this isn't what I think it is."

Snape was aware that Poppy Pomfrey had gone very still and seemed to have forgotten what she had been doing. Personally, he'd prefer it if she concentrated on controlling the relentless agony that was threatening to become unbearable quite soon, but the way the mediwitch was staring at the Death Stick didn't fill him with hope.

"Albus…" McGonagall started, sounding as if she wasn't quite sure where she was going with this discussion but was determined to have it anyway.

"Perhaps we can discuss this later, Erva?" Dumbledore suggested politely, taking the wand from her with a courteous bow. "Poppy, were you doing something?

The mediwitch jumped, finally managing to tear her eyes from the Wand, and forced her attention back on her task. Her own wand began to move slowly again, its touch feather-soft against Snape's trembling body, and he felt the warmth of the charm she was whispering slowly begin to spread through him.

"Was there anything else, Sev?" Dumbledore asked, sounding rather keen to move away from the subject of the Elder Wand.

Wishing he could just be left in peace for once, Snape closed his eyes before replying, "He is somewhat annoyed that Potter is once again where he cannot touch him. He thinks you have a reason for bringing the boy back to Hogwarts."

"The only reason is to allow Harry and his friends to complete their education while they have a chance," Dumbledore said. "There is no other motive."

"As you insist, Albus. To be frank, I don't give a damn at the moment."

"Are you all right?" McGonagall asked, softly.

"What does it matter?"

"Of course it matters."

"Only if I die before the war concludes."

"You make it sound like your life is worthless."

"You mean it isn't?" It was a struggle to produce biting sarcasm in his current state but he managed it. Dumbledore looked away, studying his shoes. A sparkly purple pair with curly toes today. Presumably borrowed from a Muggle pantomime dame.

"Sev, you're not just some inanimate puppet controlled by strings."

"Don't play dumb, Erva, it doesn't suit you," he snapped, his words somewhat harsher than he had intended, but his patience was at an end.

"Sherbet lemon?" Dumbledore offered, no more comfortable with this conversation than the last.

"For Christ's sake, Albus!" Minerva almost shouted.

"Erva, this isn't the right time for a deep discussion," Poppy interrupted quietly, her wand movements not ceasing this time. The charm was beginning to control the muscle spasms; he was no longer gritting his teeth to prevent groans escaping.

Snape closed his eyes, wishing they would all just bugger off and leave him to suffer in peace. But being a consummate Gryffindor, subtlety was not one of Minerva McGonagall's noted characteristics, although admittedly she was a damn sight more controlled than most of her House's alumni.

"We shall talk tomorrow, Sev," she told him and even though he kept his eyes shut, he knew she had that rare look of compassion she seemed to directing towards him lately.

"I'll be off to bed too," Dumbledore said hopefully.

"Not before we've had a little discussion of our own, Albus," she replied sharply. "I believe there are several matters requiring explanation. Goodnight, Poppy."

Her heeled boots tapped sharply against the stone floor as she strode from the hospital wing. The rustle of material said Dumbledore had followed behind her, presumably wearing his best agreeable expression. Only once the door had closed softly behind them did Snape open his eyes again, to find Poppy staring down at him with what he suspected was sympathy. He was unsurprised she had remained silent throughout the entire conversation; she did not interfere in Order business that didn't involve patching up battle wounds. She had always told him that the less she knew, the more able she was to sleep at night. He respected her choice, simply because it was one he didn't have.

"It's all right, Poppy," he said, trying to make his voice sound less like his vocal cords had been dragged through gravel.

She sniffed, clearly suggesting she was not entirely in agreement with him, and continued with what she was doing. He didn't know how long passed as her charms fought the curse's effects but when she finally sheathed her wand and gently rested her hand on his wrist, checking his pulse, his nervous system was back under a fragile control.

He shoved himself upright, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed to gingerly feel the healed ribs and rotate his tender shoulder. Poppy touched his forehead, making a show of checking his temperature, but he shook off her touch of comfort.

"Don't do that, Sev," she said quietly.

"It's not necessary."

"Everyone needs reassurance when they're vulnerable."

"You make me sound like a lost child."

"You remind me of one when you come back in that sort of state," she snapped.

"For Merlin's sake, keep that to yourself."

"As if I wouldn't. Besides, it's not like anyone else would see you like I do. Your terrifying public persona remains intact."

"How bloody reassuring."

"I'm not getting into a sniping match with you, Severus," she declared. "Are you sleeping here tonight?"

"I most certainly am not." He hauled himself to his feet, holding onto the bed frame for a moment until his equilibrium returned.

"It's not weakness, you know," Poppy murmured. "No one could ever think that of you. Especially not me."

He couldn't remain annoyed with her, even if he'd had the energy to try. She looked at him for a long minute and the fondness in her empathetic eyes was almost his undoing. He was so distracted battling for self-control that when she reached out and hugged him gently, he couldn't summon the fight to resist. Feeling a long, bone-weary sigh escape from him, he put an arm around her shoulders and gave her the slightest of squeezes.

"Don't be so melodramatic, Poppy," he said softly. "Go to bed."

"I was going to say the same to you," she retorted without any bite at all. "Goodnight, Sev."

He automatically bowed slightly to her in response, ignoring her smile at his unconscious manners. It still hurt as he slowly took the stairs but at least it was now bearable enough that a mild sleeping potion would be enough to knock him out for what little remained of the night.

X X X

Hermione had concluded that napping wasn't working, since she regularly awoke for her fifth period lesson with tears dampening her cheeks. Not wanting to appear in class with reddened eyes, she had abandoned her lunchtime sleep. Instead, she had decided the best method for ridding herself of insomnia was to puzzle out her thoughts and worries before bedtime, and since there was no chance of doing that inside the chaotic castle, she had taken to walking the extensive grounds whenever she had free time. If the exercise and fresh air aided sleep, so much the better.

The day after her Pensieve experience, she dragged Harry and Ron along with her, desperate to discuss what they had learnt in Dumbledore's office. The boys had been somewhat reluctant, having just consumed their own bodyweight in food at lunch, but had given up arguing when they realised she was in one of her focused moods and now tramped gamely alongside her.

She knew Harry would have already told Ron everything in their dormitory but Ron didn't seem to be taking the Snape revelation any easier than his best friend.

"How can anyone know what someone's really thinking deep down inside?" he asked as they walked, kicking moodily at the snow. "How does Dumbledore know Snape wasn't just saying all that stuff?"

"Legilimency, of course," Hermione said.

"But we know Snape's bloody good at Occlumency. Even Remus said he's one of the best."

"Yeah!" Harry agreed.

"Dumbledore trusts him, Harry," Hermione said in exasperation. "And you trust Dumbledore, therefore you must trust his judgement. For the last time, will you leave this alone? You're not going to prove that Snape is on the other side but you've been given evidence that he isn't."

"Call that evidence?"

"Yeah!" Ron chimed in, as if that added to the debate.

Another thought suddenly occurred to Hermione and she cut the boys off before they could get into their defensive stride.

"Harry, you know when we were watching the memory of Snape and Dumbledore in his office? And it got all distorted at one point? What was that?"

Harry had a brief, transparent struggle to turn his own thoughts to her question. "It means the memory's been tampered with," he finally said. "Like Slughorn did when he didn't want to admit he told Riddle about Horcruxes. Dumbledore didn't want us to see the whole story."

"So he edited it?"

"Yeah, there must have been more to the conversation than what we heard."

"I wonder what he didn't want us to hear."

Harry shrugged. "I reckon Snape told him not to show us too much."

"Or maybe Dumbledore decided there were things he didn't want us to know."

"Why would he do that?" It seemed today Harry was in defence of the headmaster rather than raging about his decisions.

"Harry, even you can't know everything, surely you can see that. Dumbledore's in charge; he's head of the Order and the most powerful wizard in the world. There will be some things about the war that only he knows."

Harry immediately adopted his frustrated expression. "What's the point in keeping secrets?"

"Maybe because people lose focus when they're given too much information." Hermione tried to reason with him. "It makes sense that you're only told what directly affects you, Harry. You've got enough to think and worry about."

"That makes sense," Ron offered. "Think about it, mate, why would you want stuff inside your head that doesn't even have anything to do with you?"

"If you had any stuff inside your head at all, it would be a miracle," Hermione muttered.

X X X

Their last lesson of the day was Potions. Harry barely looked up from his cauldron for most of the lesson; he couldn't disguise his unease and he was so tense he was almost vibrating. If he had worn a badge reading "I'm uncomfortable and don't know how to react." he couldn't have been more obvious. Hermione hoped she was slightly more opaque but it did seem to be a particularly Gryffindor-ish quality to wear one's heart on one's sleeve.

Snape had spent the first part of the lesson demonstrating the production of Strength Potion; a concoction they hadn't attempted before. He didn't speak much, and when he did there was still a hint of gravel in his voice that, if she hadn't heard him speak last night, would not have been detectable. The class had feverishly scribbled notes, sensing it was best not to ask questions. The times he brewed were usually the moments Snape allowed questions without verbally eviscerating the asker but today did not seem to be opportune and the students had remained silent, trying to watch every action as their teacher created the potion seemingly without effort or thought.

Severus Snape had the gift of making potion brewing appear an art form as much as a science. He moved with grace and surety, no unnecessary flamboyancy or wasted actions that had been a constant feature of Professor Slughorn's demonstrations. There was no drama with Snape; only certainty and subtlety and complete assurance.

For once, Hermione had struggled to concentrate on her task. She felt distracted and unsettled; too many unanswered questions demanding her attention. The main question was Snape himself. She had never despised him like the boys had. True, she had never found anything to like about him either but, ultimately, she believed that teachers should be respected and she had endeavoured to keep that value even as Ron and Harry's hatred of Snape had grown year by year. It had been hard, particularly after the incident of Malfoy's hex, and Snape had made it very clear that he held her in no regard, but their mutual dislike of each other had over time settled into a professional disinterest. He largely ignored her and she concentrated on the lesson instead of him.

Used as she was to avoiding looking at the Potions master, today she found herself unable to help continual glances towards him. There was no outward sign of the physical state he had been in last night, and she wasn't sure if she had expected there to be, but as she watched him, she realised the lines of strain surrounding his expressionless eyes were caused by pain and the reason he wasn't striding around the classroom as he usually did was because he was struggling to disguise how gingerly he was moving.

The only other person who seemed to have noticed anything amiss was Luna, who spent most of the lesson gazing placidly at Snape. Anyone else would have been on their way to the hospital wing as a small pile of singed remains in a matchbox, but Hermione had noticed that Snape never snapped at Luna. He mostly ignored her completely but the Ravenclaw never seemed to be on receiving end of his temper.

At the end of the lesson, as the other students hurriedly departed, Harry and Ron leading the crowd, Hermione deliberately took her time completing her notes and packing away her equipment. Snape was ignoring her completely, now seated at his desk and scribbling on a piece of parchment with what she suspected was complete nonsense, clearly waiting for her to leave.

Approaching an injured Snape might turn out to be no less dangerous than stealing a Hungarian Horntail's eggs but if there had ever been a time for a bit of that foolhardy Gryffindor bravery, it was now.

"Excuse me, Professor?" She slowly approached his desk, trying to keep her expression completely open.

At first it seemed he was going to pretend she wasn't there, but finally he hissed a sigh and glared up at her. The fierceness of his dark eyes almost made her take a step back.

"Miss Granger, if you are intending to talk to me about the discussion Potter had with the Headmaster last night, I warn you now – go away before I lose my temper."

"I just wanted to ask if you're all right, sir," she said nervously.

"Why wouldn't I be and why would you possibly care?" He didn't raise his voice in the slightest but the venom in his tone almost made her take a step backwards.

"You seemed in a lot of pain last night."

"Do I need to repeat my previous question?"

"No, sir." She looked down at her shoes. "Why did you agree to let us see the memories, sir?"

"Because I couldn't be bothered to argue with the Headmaster."

Encouraged by the fact he had actually replied, albeit snappishly, she braved herself to ask, "What did you expect us to learn from it?"

"If you believe I will discuss Potter's new information with you, you are very much mistaken."

"It isn't really Harry's information, Professor. I don't think he's thought much beyond what he saw."

Just for a moment, he made eye contact. "And of course you've tried to dissect and analyse every moment."

"I was more curious than Harry, yes, sir," she replied carefully.

"How unexpected. I'm not interested in whatever questions you have – now will you leave me in peace?"

"Aren't you afraid?" she blurted out before she could stop herself.

His eyes snapped back to hers again and now there was a spark of anger deep within the cold black.

"Miss Granger, you are widely regarded, correctly or not, as the brightest witch of your generation. Do not lower your intelligence to the level of your dunderhead friends by posing such a question."

If she looked closely enough, she could almost take that as a compliment. "I won't, Professor," she said quietly.

"Then go away and maintain your intelligence level somewhere that is nowhere near me."

This was pointless; even if she dared to continue asking questions, there was no way he was going to answer her. Though he would probably hex her into the middle of next century.

"Professor Sprout was right," she said quietly as she opened the classroom door. "You are very brave."

His reaction took her aback. A look of pure shock replaced his carefully-blank expression and she was sure she saw his entire body tense. His jaw clenched tight, a muscle flickering in the corner.

Abruptly, he got to his feet and strode into the Potions storeroom, slamming the door behind him.


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER 8**

With Christmas just around the corner, the boys sheepishly announced that they wouldn't be staying at school for the festive season. Nor would they be going to The Burrow. In fact, they would be going to watch the England Quidditch team play Nepal in Kathmandu with Ginny and the Weasley twins, because Oliver Wood was making his international debut.

Of course, Hermione was very welcome to go along as well, if she wanted. Except they knew she didn't like Quidditch. And they hadn't got her a ticket. But honestly, if she really wanted to go, they'd think of something.

"We've got your presents before we go, though," Harry said hurriedly when Hermione's expression obviously communicated her strong desire to try out the Bat-Bogey hex on them both. "They'll be here any day now."

Hermione decided it was a good time to pay a calming visit to the library.

"Sorry you're going to be on your own over Christmas," Harry said awkwardly, later that evening in the common room.

"I won't. I saw Luna in the library: she's staying as well. Apparently her father's gone hunting Snorkacks in Sweden."

"Great, you won't be lonely then!" Ron said. "Bit deranged after two weeks with Luna, but still…"

Hermione gave him a look quite reminiscent of McGonagall. "I can't believe your mum's letting you go anywhere. There's a war raging and you're going off to mess around in Nepal with Undesirable Number One?"

"Harry's gonna be disguised again like he was for Bill's wedding. And everyone said it's ok 'cos Charlie's coming with us," Ron said. "Dunno why they trust Charlie to keep us safe, though. I know he's in the Order and everything but, come on, he's a dragon keeper. He doesn't think anything's dangerous."

"How reassuring," Hermione said.

"We'll be fine, Mione."

"It wasn't your safety I was particularly worried about, Ronald."

X X X

Very few people had stayed behind for Christmas that year, staff included. Only two younger Gryffindors had remained and of the other Houses, Luna was the only one Hermione really knew, so it was inevitable that they spent most of the holidays in each other's company.

It had not been a particularly pleasant experience, waking up on Christmas morning in Gryffindor Tower, more or less alone and with only a few presents. It was not her first Christmas without her family but it had hurt no less this year. She had been quiet the whole day, hardly touching the typically-extravagant meal the house-elves served, and even though she had tried blend in with the celebrations, she had struggled to portray an attitude of cheerfulness in the days after.

The school seemed to go into hibernation on the 27th, everyone replete and exhausted after two days of non-stop eating, drinking and festivities, so Hermione took the opportunity to visit the library. Luna announced she wanted to research the habits of colonising Dillidribbets and set about enthusiastically scouring the shelves, declaring that they were probably referred to by some other name in literature.

The Ravenclaw's gentle humming actually proved soothing as Hermione focused on her own task, trying to find any reference to soul destruction in the Restricted Section. She knew by now there was definitely no references to Horcruxes but she hoped that there may be some information under another title.

"Do you think Professor Snape would mind if I wrote my Potions essay on the uses of Strength Potion on Dillidribbets?" Luna asked after a long period of comfortable quiet.

"I think he would probably have you gutting Flobberworms for the rest of the school year," Hermione replied drily.

"I think it would be a very interesting essay."

"Somehow, I doubt Professor Snape would agree, but you go for it if you don't value your life too much."

"I don't think he hates me, actually," Luna said reflectively.

"No, he doesn't seem to," Hermione was forced to admit.

"He doesn't hate you, either. Just Harry. And Neville too, sometimes."

"If you say so."

"He's not easy to read but it's possible if you try hard enough."

"Why would you try?" Hermione asked curiously.

"I find Professor Snape very interesting. Everyone else is scared of him, but I'm not and he knows it."

"Does he?"

"Oh yes, you can tell by his eyes."

"You can't tell anything from Snape's eyes, Luna, they're like the Black Hole of Calcutta."

"You can," Luna said serenely. "You just have to look at the right time. And why does Calcutta have a black hole? Is it being invaded by Roklectials?"

"Never mind, just a figure of speech."

"Oh, ok. Must be a Muggle thing. I'm off back to Ravenclaw Tower; the Dillidribbets might have finished their powdered batwing by now. See you later, Hermione."

She skipped off and Hermione was once again left to her own thoughts. With a sinking feeling that her own search was going to be futile, she focused once more on the book in front of her, ignoring the growing whiteness outside the window as the snow started to fall harder.

X X X

Snape had known something was amiss from the moment he arrived at Malfoy Manor on Boxing Day night. The inner circle were acting like the damn students when it was windy; overexcited and flighty and completely unfocused. He growled irritably at their antics and wondered if their master had been handing out cocaine as rewards again.

"What the fuck is wrong with you all?" he demanded as Mulciber charged past like a rampaging rhinoceros, attempting to hex Lucius's squealing house-elf for absolutely no reason. Snape's wandless magic was strong enough that one non-verbalised word was enough to send Mulciber crashing face-first to the floor, his legs locked together.

Snape looked at the other Death Eaters crowded into the hallway. "I repeat," he said silkily, in the voice his students recognised as his most dangerous. "What. The fuck. Is going on?"

"We've got one!" Avery crowed. "One of those bastard Hogwarts traitors!"

Snape's blood went cold but he managed to maintain his emotionless mask. "Which one?" he asked, speaking very quietly so as not to betray the agitation in his words.

"That Muggle Studies bitch. The one what thinks it's good for us to breed with Mudbloods."

"When was she captured?"

"Coupla hours ago. Walked straight into us, she did. The Dark Lord's right pleased, I tell you."

"And where is she?"

"In there." Avery jerked his head towards the billiards room. "We've been havin' some fun with her before you got here."

Snape strode across the hallway, into the room without another word. His heart was pounding so hard he was sure it was audible; his mouth had gone bone dry and it took an inhuman effort not to react when he saw his colleague, his friend if he really stopped and thought about it, lying battered and bloodied, still twitching from the curses the Death Eaters had hurled at her.

"Come to join in the fun, Snape?" Rowle gloated, his wand still pointed at Charity Burbage's shaking figure.

He didn't have time to even blink before Snape's fist hit him full in the face, sending him stumbling backwards and his wand flying from his hand. It took every bit of Snape's legendary self-control not to curse the other man; he despised using the Unforgivables but sometimes the situation just begged for one.

A streak of red light erupted from Dolohov's wand in defence of his friend but Snape needed only a single flick of his own to neutralise the hex.

"Don't give me a reason, Antonin," he hissed. "You know I will kill you and you know you can't stop me."

Dolohov went very still, his eyes darting between Snape and the writhing figure of Rowe. Snape stooped, picked up Rowe's wand.

"Get up and stop snivelling."

Blood pouring from his broken nose, Rowe staggered to his feet, eyes narrowed in suspicion as Snape held out of his wand to him. The other Death Eaters remained silent and stationary, torn between their instinctive desire for a good brawl and the undeniable knowledge that Snape could curse all of them single-handed without breaking a sweat.

"Get out, you fucking imbeciles!" Snape snarled, his expression so ferocious that even McNair backed away as if expecting to be attacked. Muttering darkly to themselves, his fellows stamped out of the room.

Snape knelt beside the women who had so often arrived at his door with a bottle of whisky and the offer of quiet, easy company. A flick of his wand warded and secured the room and he reached to take her cold hand.

"Charity? Can you hear me?"

A gasp rattled in her throat. "Sev?"

"I'm here."

"I should have listened to you," she whispered, her eyes locking on his. "I should have remained at Hogwarts for the holidays."

"You couldn't have predicted this would happen."

"You warned me."

"I warned everyone, Charity. Every staff member who considers me a friend, I advised to stay. Most left the school regardless and are still safe and well; you didn't make a rash decision."

"They hurt me," she gasped. "They didn't stop until you arrived. How long have I been here?"

"I'm not sure. Hours, I suspect. Was it only the Death Eaters who attacked you."

A shudder ran through her. "You mean have I seen _him_? No, thank Merlin. Where am I?"

"Lucius Malfoy's house. The Dark Lord is here; I was Summoned."

"Will he come in here?" Her voice pitch rose sharply in fear. "Into this room?"

"Not for the moment."

"Sev, it's not my time yet. Don't let him take me."

He knew it was a promise he shouldn't make but he couldn't look into the terrified eyes and refuse her this small comfort. "I will protect you, Charity. It will be all right. Close your eyes and keep very still for a moment."

When she did what he asked, visibly holding her breath, he ran his wand down the centre of her body, muttering under his breath a spell of his own invention. He had not yet needed it for himself but, with cold certainty, he was sure one day he would. For now, it was the only comfort he could offer the Muggle Studies professor. Burbage gasped again, this time in shock at the sensation his incantation caused.

"What have you done?" she whispered.

"Nullified the nerves of your spinal cord, effectively paralysing you. You will feel no pain now, if anything further happens." Or when, he added silently to himself.

"But you can reverse it later?"

Again, he desperately wanted to look away from her gaze but he forced himself to maintain eye contact. "Of course."

"Snape!" a voice bellowed from outside the door, a fist hammering on the carved oak. "What the hell are you doing? Open the fucking door! Why should you get to have all the fun alone?"

"Charity, you must listen to me," he said urgently, his voice barely audible, speaking very quickly. "Whatever happens, you must beg for your life. You must scream if he curses you: he must believe your terror. Do you understand? He can't suspect I have helped you in any way."

"Yes," she whispered, tears running unrestrained down her face.

He gave her hand a last squeeze that she couldn't feel. "_Somnus_," he said, watching her sink into unconsciousness.

X X X

He tried to look everywhere but above the table, where Charity was suspended in mid-air, thankfully still unconscious. Dolohov had set her still form rotating slowly, drawing a chorus of laughs and jeers from Snape's peers, but so far the Dark Lord had barely glanced at his latest prisoner.

Draco sat opposite his Head of House, keeping his gaze fixed on the polished walnut table. Snape doubted the boy had ever so much as spoken to Charity and no doubt, had she ever occurred to him, he would no doubt have derided her in every way. But he still couldn't look at her. Not guilt, but denial. Denial that the path he was choosing could lead to this visible torture. Whether he accepted it or not, Draco did not have that psychotic streak the older Death Eaters were currently displaying.

The snake-like eyes finally drifted upwards, as casually as if examining the weather. A flick of Voldemort's wand brought Charity back to consciousness. She groaned softly, her eyes darting wildly until she found Snape's place at the table.

"Severus, help me!" There was an edge of hysteria in her voice that convinced the other Death Eaters, judging by their jeering calls.

"What an impassioned plea," Voldemort said thoughtfully. "A shame your colleague did not consider the consequences of her educational beliefs before begging for assistance."

The other men jeered and Bellatrix let out an over-exaggerated shriek of laughter.

"You did well, Rowe. It has been a long time since we had an opportunity to correct a blood traitor."

"It's my pleasure to serve you, my lord," Rowe said eagerly.

Voldemort's gaze remained on Charity as he murmured softly, "I wonder, my loyal servants, how many of you took Muggle Studies during your school years."

More jeering and hissing erupted from around the table. Snape looked straight ahead, his eyes fixed on one of the oak panels on the far wall, his brain silently chanting the stern mantra 'do not react, do not react'.

"Severus…please." He couldn't prevent his gaze jumping upwards as he heard his name again. Burbage's eyes locked on his and the battle to keep his expression blank almost broke him. "We're friends."

He knew what she doing, knew that even in her fear, she was playing the role he had asked of her, but God, that hurt. Because he knew now he could not save her. Charity Burbage was his friend and he was about to watch her die.

And even though he was steeling himself, clenching every muscle in preparation, he still wasn't ready for the flash of green light that shot from Voldemort's wand.

"_Avada Kedavra_!"

Snape's entire body jerked at the hissed words, the reaction invisible to everyone except him as he fought to keep his features impassive. His mouth flooded with blood as he bit his tongue in his effort.

Charity's body fell, crashing to the table. Lucius, seated beside his friend, physically recoiled, but Snape was too busy breathing through his nose in an attempt to control himself to pay any attention to the blond man.

Voldemort's eyes remained on Charity's still form for a long time, then those horrific red slits focused on Snape. "Was there something you wished to say, Severus?"

"My lord?"

"You appear to be somewhat...perturbed."

"Not at all, my lord, I assure you."

"Maybe you wanted to continue the nice little chat you had earlier, Snape," Rowe snarled.

"Look at me, Severus," came the soft command that brooked no argument.

Drawing a deep breath, Snape met the inhuman eyes. Even before he felt the stab of pain as his master forced his way into his mind, he knew his night would not be over easily.

X X X

How he managed to Apparate accurately outside the Hogwarts gates was beyond him. Physically, he wasn't badly hurt, no fractures or internal bleeding, but he was broken. For a long time, he just stayed there, sunk into an uncomfortable crouch until the need to vomit passed. Memories he desperately wanted to consign to the Pensieve, never to be viewed again, flashed across his mind.

Nagini consuming Charity's body, only the most disturbed of the Death Eaters continuing with their low jeers, the rest staring at their shoes and fighting not to lose their dinner. The great snake, meal finished, turning at a single hiss from her master. Sliding her languid way across the table, heading straight for Snape.

He had never experienced anything like the sensation of the giant snake wrapping around his body. The great muscles squeezed so tightly it felt like every bone was disintegrating. Breathing became impossible; his extremities lost all feeling as his blood failed to circulate. The pressure in his head seemed to be at explosion point.

By the time he regained consciousness, he had realised the next day had arrived unnoticed and the Dark Lord was gone, along with the rest of his followers. And he was still alive. How, he had no idea.

Now, he dragged himself up and set off on the long, painful walk up the drive. He could have flown but he didn't trust his equilibrium. The lack of blood to his brain seemed to have sent his balance to hell.

"What has happened?" Dumbledore asked immediately, as his spy stumbled though his office door.

Snape all but fell into the nearest chair. He hadn't planned what he was going to say, couldn't focus to deliver the news in a sensitive way, so he said the only thing he could.

"He took Charity Burbage."

Shock numbed Dumbledore's expression. "She is dead?"

"Yes."

Dumbledore's eyes were dull with sadness. "She was a fine woman; an excellent teacher. She was not involved in the Order – what could he have wanted from her?"

"He didn't bother to explain his motives."

"Did she die well?"

"It was swift and painless."

"That, at least, is some small comfort."

"For you, maybe."

"Did you…?"

"No. The Dark Lord himself finished her. I was expected to join in her torture before her execution." He gripped the back of his neck, squeezing hard, fighting to keep control. "I couldn't save her, Dumbledore. I tried…"

"Of course you tried, dear boy. You have saved as many as you have been able to in recent times. You will have done what you could for poor Charity."

"When I first returned to Hogwarts, she was the one apart from the House Heads who would talk to me. She sat next to me at every dinner…" Snape was horrified to realise he was close to tears. He would not allow Dumbledore to see him cry.

"Sev…"

"Don't, Albus. Just…don't."

"Are you hurt?"

He wasn't sure, couldn't interpret the sensations a little like small electric shocks, that were currently flooding his body but he shook his head. "I don't think so. I just want to sleep."

"Then we will talk again after you have rested."

Snape took his leave silently, not even realising his feet were taking him not to the sanctuary of the dungeons, but to the staffroom, until he found himself outside the door. Some deep loyalty had stirred, forcing him to acknowledge Minerva needed to be told and she deserved to hear the truth from him, not some vague platitudes from Albus.

Unusually, for this time during the holidays, his colleague wasn't in the staffroom. She would normally bring her work here, so she could gossip with Pomona, Aurora and Septima over a box of ice mice and numerous cups of delicate tea, but the room was deserted.

He sank down onto the nearest sofa, just for a moment, to catch his strained breath before he made the long walk down to the dungeons.


End file.
